


Domestic

by Aki_Aiko



Series: Domestic [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Character Death, Community: glee_kink_meme, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorder, Mental Illness, Multi, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, attmepted suicide, dark!Karofsky, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aki_Aiko/pseuds/Aki_Aiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt disappeared five years ago.  When Puck by odd chance finds him, his family must uncover what, exactly, happened to make him the damaged man he's turned into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. This story is the first I wrote that I had to walk away from the keyboard many times (Oh Father would be the second). I've been told it's hard to read. So please check the warnings beforehand.

Puck clutched the box in his hands with splayed fingers as he trailed behind Grovetree Apartments's landlord.  Rachel had warned him about the high cost of living in New York compared to Lima, but he'd thought the apartments would have been fancier for how much the rent cost.  
  
"Here we are."  
  
They stopped at  number 325.  It was directly underneath a set of stairs which led to the apartments above.  The key rattled in Ray's hands as he opened the door, revealing a place the size of a closet.  
  
"You've got the bedroom here," Ray said, crossing the tiny living room to the hallway behind it.  "There's the bath.  And, of course, the kitchen."  
  
Puck looked the room over with an eyebrow raised.  "It's kind of small."  
  
"Anything bigger'll cost you an extra two hundred bucks."  
  
"It's perfect."  The box thumped as it hit the floor at Puck's feet.  
  
Ray clapped him on the shoulder, pressed the key into Puck's hand, and turned to leave but paused at the door.  He rubbed uncomfortably at his neck.  "I should probably warn you.  There's a gay couple upstairs."  
  
Puck frowned.  He thought the city was cool about that sort of thing.    
  
"They get a bit...noisy," Ray added.  
  
"They turn the TV up too loud?"  
  
"No, no.  Nothing like that-well, one of them likes to play showtunes every now and then."  
  
"Okay.  Showtunes.  Gotcha."  He could handle that.  Glee had taught him to appreciate, though not exactly like, all those dumbass songs Rachel used to go on about.  
  
"It's just," Ray continued, "they're like the posterchild for domestic abuse.  Give the ceiling a good whack or two if it gets loud."  
  
"Right."  Puck scowled up at the ceiling then flopped onto the couch.  
  
He'd gotten with a pool cleaning company, but work didn't start for a few more days, leaving him with time to kill.  He was in a light doze when heavy footsteps woke him, causing a moment of panic until he remembered where, exactly, he was and how thin the walls were.  
  
Upstairs had been quiet so far, except for occasional soft footsteps treading across the floor.  The second occupant of the upstairs apartment was much louder.  He stomped when he walked and his voice was a low growl, near unintelligible through the vent connecting the two apartments.  Puck almost drifted back to sleep, but the unmistakeable sound of a hard slap and of something-someone-hitting the floor jolted him awake.  He clenched his hands shut and tried to tune it out, to not picture what must be happening above him.  
  
The fight, such as it was, ended quickly.  Footsteps stomped then whispered down the hall, towards where Puck knew their bedroom, like his own, must be located.  
  
Oh, hell, no.  
  
He was not going to listen to them go at it while he tried to sleep in his own bed.  Instead, Puck stayed on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep.  
  
He woke to the smell of pancakes wafting down from upstairs, making his stomach grumble and yell for food.  Poking around town while he was still new to the city would just get him lost, so he went as far as the nearest McDonald's, plus to the nearest place that sold beer.  He came home with a to-go bag in one hand and a six-pack in the other.    
  
Before going into his apartment, he paused to glance at the stairs.  
  
 _Not your business._  
  
The door snicked shut behind him.  
  
x  
  
Rachel smiled brightly at him when Puck opened the door.  Beside her, Finn smiled apologetically.  
  
"I know this is unexpected, seeing me here" Rachel began.  "But as we live in the same area now I thought my visit would be a nice housewarming gift for you."  She turned to Finn and ordered him to get some of Puck's things from the truck, shooing him away with flapping hands.  "He rented a truck for your things.  So-tell me how much you like it here.  Isn't it wonderful?"  
  
"Rachel, I just got here."  Puck edged towards the door as she started going on about some off-Broadway show she was going to be in.  Well, not in.  She was the understudy to a minor role.  
  
"They just don't understand my talent..."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
Puck was saved from hearing all about the important roles she would be _just perfect_ for by Finn coming through the door, wrestling with two trashbags of clothes.  Puck didn't know why they'd brought a truck.  The Navigator could have held all his things, even the crappy armchair his mother insisted he take with him.    
  
"-said he wanted me to have it."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Finn stared at him.  "Dude!  You weren't even listening to me."  
  
"Sorry.  Did I miss anything important?"  
  
"Burt's giving me the house after he and Mom move."  
  
"Oh.  That's cool, right?"  
  
"Yeah, but...I don't know what to do about the basement."  Finn lowered his voice as if sharing a secret.  "Burt says he'll pack everything up but I don't know.  It's weird."    
  
He plastered on a fake smile when Rachel came out of the bathroom and asked if they were done.  Puck nodded and sat the last box, full of photos, onto the coffee table.  
  
"I am so hungry," Finn moaned.  
  
Rachel brightened.  "This is perfect.  One of my dads sent me this recipe that I've been dying to try."  
  
Finn grimaced and exchanged a glance with Puck.  "That's great, Rach."  
  
Puck hauled himself to his feet.  "You two have fun.  I'm getting some real food."  He rolled his eyes at the disappointed look on Rachel's face.  "What?  I'm not ve-oh,  come on!"  
  
Music seeped through the walls, some chick singing about Argentina.  He went to bang the mop handle against the ceiling but Rachel's stricken expression distracted him.  Confused, Finn wrapped his arms around her.  Puck cursed, grabbed the mop, and started to bang on the ceiling.    
  
The music got louder.  
  
Puck's whole body sizzled with anger.  He stalked out of the apartment, barely aware of Finn trailing behind him, and took the stairs two at a time.  When he slammed his fists against 345's door, the music cut abruptly off.  Still, Puck kept knocking.  There was only one thing that made Rachel cry like that.  
  
The door to the apartment next door opened and a tall, dark-haired woman stepped outside.  Even in his anger, Puck could take a moment to appreciate her long, long legs.  
  
"It took almost two years before he'd open the door for me," she said.  "He's not going to for you guys.  Who are you, anyway?"  
  
Rachel moved forward with her show face on.  "Hello.  My name is Rachel Berry and these are my friends, Noah and Finn.  Noah lives downstairs."  
  
"Think you can get him to open up so I can kick his ass?!"  Puck hit the door with his foot.  
  
The neighbor narrowed her eyes at him.  "That kid's enough of a wreck without guys like you harassing him."  
  
"We just wanted to see if he'd keep the music down," Finn said.  "It was really loud."  
  
"Do you have his number?" Rachel asked.  "Maybe we could give him a call."  
  
"He doesn't have a phone."  She looked Finn over appreciatively.  "But I could give you mine.  Wait here a minute."  She gave him a flirtatious smile and disappeared inside, coming back out with a folded piece of paper.  "I'm Maya, by the way."  
  
Finn smiled nervously as Maya tucked the paper into his shirt pocket with lingering hands.  
  
Rachel cleared her throat.  "Yes.  Well.  Thank you.  I'm sure Noah will call you if he has any trouble."  
  
Puck glared at the door one last time.  Following his friends back downstairs, he'd only taken a few steps when Finn stopped short, causing Puck to run into him.    
  
"Guys.  What the hell?"  Puck took a step to Finn's left, where Rachel stood, so he could get a look over the shorter girl's head.  Both she and Finn stood frozen.  
  
A low growl rumbled from Puck's throat.  
  
Dave Karofsky stood at the foot of the stairs, staring up at them in shock.


	2. Chapter 2

"Son of a bitch!"  Finn's long legs got him quickly down the flight of stairs.  He grabbed Karofsky by the shirt collar and slammed him into the opposite door, ignoring Rachel's shout of, "Finn, no."  
  
Puck followed close behind.  He'd been waiting five years for a piece of this guy.    
  
"What did you do to him?" Finn shouted.  
  
For someone cornered by two men out for blood, Karofsky remained surprisingly calm.  He simply raised his hands in the air and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes kept darting towards the stairs.  Puck stepped in front of them in case he tried to make a run for it.  
  
"Oh, yeah?"  Finn's hold tightened.  "Why'd you ditch town, then?"  
  
"Maybe I didn't like you guys stalking me like your fag friend did."  
  
"Don't say that word!"  
  
Karofsky knocked Finn's hands away and reached down for the package he'd dropped.  The mailing address was labeled K. Karofsky, Apartment 345.  It was the apartment directly above Puck's head.  
  
"You want to keep harassing me?  Fine.  But I have no problem calling the cops."  
  
"Shouldn't we be the ones calling the cops?" Finn asked.  
  
Karofsky only shrugged.  "What are they going to care?  I wasn't a suspect for very long."  He stepped around Finn and glared at Puck.  "Move it, Puckerman.  I gotta get home.  Hot date waiting."  
  
Gritting his teeth, Puck let him pass.  As much as he hated to admit it, Karofsky was right.  No evidence had ever surfaced to connect him to Kurt's mur-disappearance, and even though his alibi wasn't airtight, it was enough to give him the appearance of innocence.  
  
Puck glared at the man’s back as he lumbered away but found Finn right in his face when he turned around.  
  
“You couldn’t have told me that _Dave Karofsky_ lives upstairs?”  
  
“Hey!  How was I supposed to know?  He must work two jobs ‘cause the dude‘s never here.”    
  
Except at night, when he beat the crap out of his lover.  Probably still repressing some gay feelings or some other crap like that to be playing the bully card at his age.  
  
Rachel, pale and trembling, spoke up for the first time since the confrontation.  “I want to go home,” she said, her voice small.  She’d started to cry again.  “Finn, please.  It’s dark.”  
  
Finn huffed out a sigh, then stepped back.   “Yeah.  Sorry.”  He reached out to take her hand and they walked out onto the brightly lit parking lot, headed towards Rachel’s place.  
  
Two hours later, he walked through Puck’s door with a stupid grin on his face.  
  
Puck snorted at the sight of him.  “Have fun?”  
  
“Yeah, it was great.  Oh!  Hey.”  He snapped out of his dreamy gaze and fished a familiar piece of paper from his pants’ pocket, which he dangled in front of Puck’s face.  “Why don’t you call her?  She was hot.”  
  
“Nah. She was all googly-eyed over you, not me.”  
  
“Yeah, but...me and Rachel.  I mean, sure, there’s a lot of drive time but we can Skype all the time and she comes home on the holidays, anyway, so-”  
  
Puck held up a hand to stop the word vomit.  “So, you and Berry, back together again, huh?”  He took the paper from Finn’s hand and studied the boyish handwriting.  “Maybe I will give her a call.”  
  
x  
  
 _(Kurt was thrown against the lockers.  He bounced off of them and fell to the floor, knocked off balance by the unexpected punch, his messenger bag falling at his feet.)_  
  
Finn woke with a start to a banging sound above him, Kurt’s cry of ‘I didn’t tell’ fading back into his memories.  Whatever Karofsky was doing with his (partner, boyfriend, lover?) sounded rough.  It was also very loud, as if he wanted to be heard, each grunted he made punctuated by the other’s soft-pitched cry.  
  
Finn’s stomach churned as a horrible thought wormed its way into his mind.  He stumbled out of bed and crossed the hallway to where Puck slept on the living room couch.    
  
“What are you doing?” Puck muttered when Finn woke him.  “I have work.”  
  
“Do you think he did things to Kurt, before he-”  Finn swallowed, unable to finish.  
  
Puck lifted the pillow off of his head and sat up so he could look at his friend full in the face.  “I don’t think about it.  Neither should you.”  
  
“I’m going to be sick.”  Finn fled to the bathroom, covering his ears as he passed the open bedroom door, and spent the next thirty minutes dry-heaving into the toilet.  
  
Puck sighed and lay back down, hoping to catch a few of those hours of sleep before he had to get up again.  
  
 _(“You don’t know what it’s like, do you?  To want help so badly you can’t even say it.”)_


	3. Chapter 3

After Finn left, Puck started to set things up in his apartment. The armchair went by the couch, and he put away the silverware his mom had sent, as well various other things that didn't need to be junking the place up. He left the box of pictures for last.

Most were of family and friends and a few of girls he'd slept with back in high school. In a move that would have made Rachel cringe, he used thumbtacks to hang up the ones of his sister, mother, and former Glee Club members. The hospital baby picture of Beth was in a frame which he set on top of the TV.

Leafing through the rest of the photos, his hand hit a familiar computer printout, folded tightly into a compact square, just like when he'd first tucked it away. Opening it up revealed Kurt Hummel's smiling face. Posters had been put up all over town after his disappearance the summer leading up to their senior year. Some were even on the wall at the local Wal-Mart. Puck imagined that, somewhere, Kurt's face was on a milk carton, too.

Puck stuffed the picture back into the box, though he was half-tempted to just go ahead and hang it up. Work kept him busy most days. It was slower, what with it being winter, but plenty of places used indoor pools: homes, hotels, gyms...

Whatever Karofsky did took the whole day. He left home around five in the morning and didn't come home until around nine, at the latest. On weekends, he often didn't come home until midnight, looking worn out in a way that only work, not pleasure, could do to a person.

So, yeah, Puck was kind of stalking the guy, keeping an eye on when he came and went. He'd heard once that serial killers kept mementos of their victims like trophies. Maybe if Puck could get inside that apartment, he'd find something of Kurt's. The only problem was the second guy holed up in there, though Puck doubted he'd be much of a threat.

"I think you're scaring the natives," Maya said into his ear while he waited under the stairs one night.

Puck jerked around to look at her. "Huh?"

"The Karofskys. I hear they're thinking about moving."

"Wait. Somebody married that jerk?"

Maya shrugged. "They use the same last name."

Puck made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Must have found someone new to terrorize."

"I take it you know him."

"We went to school together back in Ohio." He hesitated to tell the next part. "There was a kid back there that he was obsessed with-made his life a living hell. This kid, Kurt, used to get a lot of crap for being who he was." Puck sighed. "I used to throw him in dumpsters. But Karofsky...had some kind of thing for him, stalked him, harassed him. One day, he just disappeared. The only thing anyone ever found of him was his car and one of his fancy t-shirts, all covered in blood. His blood."

"You really think he...?"

"Yeah. I do."

Maya grabbed Puck’s arm and pulled him out from under the stairs. “C’mon.”

“Wha-”

“Your place. You can make me some tea.”

“I don’t have tea.”

“Coffee, then, whatever.”

She dragged him back to his place and canvassed the kitchen until she managed to find the coffee and get a pot brewing, then sat on the couch where Puck sat.

“I’m worried about the other Karofsky,” Maya said.

“Doesn’t he have a name?”

“He’s never given me a first name. But if that guy really did what you think he did, he should know about it.”

“Why are you so worried about him?” Puck asked.

“He’s my friend. Sort of. And he doesn’t have anyone else.”

“Have you ever actually seen him?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve even been inside his apartment once or twice. Swanky.”

“What’s he like?”

“He seems very sad.” She paused, then added, “I think he’s tried to kill himself. He has this cut on his arm.”

They stared at the table in silence. As if to shake off her worries, Maya started to rifle through the box of pictures Puck had left out. He told her about the people in them and shared some of his fonder memories of certain ‘girlfriends’. Maya was laughing out loud by the time he got around to a particular night with Brittany and Santana.

“I have to confess,” Maya said when he finished. “I’ve had a little bit to drink tonight.”

Puck raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

She set the box aside and moved closer. “Yeah.”

Afterwards, he and Maya lay tangled together on the couch, breathing hard and legs slotted together. She snuggled closer and closed her eyes with a hum. A few years ago, he’d have found this suffocating but he could appreciate the afterglow more now that he wasn’t the punk kid he was in high school. It felt...nice.

Plus, he got the feeling the cuddling was due more to physical satisfaction than a ‘let’s get married and have lots of babies’ thing he used to fear. But, hey, she looked nice and sated, much like himself. He tugged her closer and let himself fall asleep next to her.

The sounds of shouting and of something breaking woke them sometime later. Puck sat up so quickly Maya got thrown to the floor.

Karofsky was yelling. At the sound of a body being thrown around, Puck muttered, “Screw this,” and picked his phone up from where it’d fallen in their haste to get undressed.

Maya scrambled back onto the couch and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the police.”

“Wait, no.” They struggled for the phone until Puck managed to wrench it from her grasp. “Noah, wait, please.”

“Wait for what? For Karofsky to commit another murder? No way is that happening.”

“This has happened before and calling the police doesn’t help. Trust me, I know.”

“So we’re just supposed to sit here and let it happen?” Puck threw his phone back to the floor. “Why can’t people just say something instead of letting guys like him get away with crap? If my friend had said something, anything-’hey, that creep’s stalking me’-he’d still be here, instead of rotting in whatever ditch Karofsky threw him in.”

Maya drew her knees up to her chest, a strange expression crossing her face. “You have no idea what it’s like, do you? To want help so badly you can’t even say it.”

Puck stilled, staring at her blank face. When he reached a hand out to touch her, she pulled away. “I should go.”

He watched silently as she put on her clothes, briefly revealing a long, thin scar along her back, then slipped out the door.

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

If only Puck's guidance counselor could see him now, standing outside the Karofsky apartment at dawn with lock picking tools in his hands.  He'd done his usual troll-like skulking under the stairs until the coast was clear, then went to do his thing.  He glanced once at Maya's door.  They hadn't talked yet about last night and maybe never would, though he really hoped he hadn't let yet another friendship go down in flames.  
  
Turns out, the place was like a freakin' fortress!  A victory dance at getting past the locks would have been unmanly, so Puck settled on a quiet, 'yes,' and congratulatory fist pump.  Before he entered, a figure inside darted from the living room, slamming a hallway door shut behind him.   
  
Maya was right about it being swanky here.  The furniture was covered in rich fabrics, curtains made to match, and there were artsy pictures decorating the walls.  And, hey!  They had an awesome TV, on which played some musical Puck felt he should remember but didn’t.  An ice pack lay abandoned on the floor, no doubt simply dropped there, and a few Vogue magazines were spread out on the coffee table next to a bottle of aspirin.  
  
A bone white mannequin stood by one of the windows.  The thing would have been creepy if not for the light pink dress draped over it, its gauzy lower half spreading out across the floor like faded rose petals.  A few pinks were still stuck in the bodice.  
  
At a nearby muffled sound, Puck sighed and headed towards the hallway.  
  
“Hey, don’t worry,” he called out.  “I’m just here to make sure you’re all right.”  
  
The first door he opened led to an empty bedroom, the bed neatly made and clothes put away.  
  
“Dude, seriously, you okay?”  
  
The second room was filled with books about fashion and music, with reams of fabric lined up against the wall.  Did Karofsky have a type or what?  
  
The next door Puck tried was locked, so he grabbed the knob and rattled it.  “C’mon, man, open the door.  It’s cool.  Really.”  
  
A slight rustling behind the door was his only answer.  Luckily, the lock was simple, easy to pick.  Opening the door, Puck stepped inside and right in front of him was a black and white print shower curtain.  Someone stood behind it, breathing harshly and practically panting with fear.  
  
Puck pulled the curtain gently away to reveal a familiar, battered face staring back at him, hitting him like a punch to the gut.  
  
“Kurt?”  
  
x  
  
The house which had been home to the original Hummel family stood empty, devoid of human touch now that its new and remaining members were moving on.  Hopefully, Finn could fill it with nice memories, happy ones to erase the old.  
  
Burt stood in the front door with a handful of collapsed boxes in his arms.  
  
"Are you sure you can do this?" Carole asked.  "I can take care of it if you need me to."  
  
"No."  Burt took a deep breath as they neared the basement.  "No.  I can do this.  I _need_ to do this."  
  
Carole smiled at him sadly.  "Okay.  I'm going to help Finn put the last boxes in the truck, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, honey.  You do that."  
  
She kissed him on the cheek and let her hand linger on his shoulder before walking away.  
  
Taking another deep breath to steel himself, Burt opened the basement door and went slowly down the steps.   Even after all this time, the sight of his son's things laid out before him still caused his heart to clench in his chest like an iron vise had clamped down on it.  Burt thought the pain would have dulled by now but it still felt as sharp as it did the day he finally admitted to himself that Kurt wasn't coming home.  
  
Everything was the same as it'd been five years ago, everything tucked neatly away and in its place, just as Kurt left it.  Carole came downstairs to dust once a week so that it wouldn't build up and coat the room in grime.  
  
Burt dropped the boxes on the bed and wandered over to the vanity table and lightly ran a finger over the various jars of moisturizers and cleansers and whatever else this stuff was.  Truthfully, he never really understood what the hell that kid put on his face beyond the two basics.  His kid had lost on that front long before the words 'duck fat' were ever uttered.  
  
As he flipped through the expensive clothes kept on padded hangers ( _"This is Alexander McQueen, Dad.  I am not ruining it by using a wire hanger"_ ), each piece brought mental pictures of his son's guarded face, the memories attached to them wide and varied.  
  
This coat was worn the day they went to Breadstix to celebrate the joining of the Hudson-Hummel family.  He'd gotten in trouble with the principle for wearing these pants, not because they were too tight-which they were, Burt thought with a chuckle-but because they were decorated with crosses.  And this scarf...oh, god, this scarf...  
  
Burt dropped onto the bed, buried his face in Kurt's favorite blue scarf, and let out a low cry, muffled by the fabric pressed against his mouth.  So lost was he in his own grief that he didn't hear Carole's frantic voice calling him until she neared the door to the basement.  
  
"Burt!  _Burt!_ "  
  
He stared up at her, bleary-eyed, as she ran down the stairs with one of their cell phones in hand.  Finn trailed behind her with a confused look on his face.  
  
"Oh, my god, Burt."  Carole skidded to a stop in front of the bed.  Her eyes were wild and she gasped for air, though she couldn't have run all that far.  
  
"Wha-"  
  
"Burt, oh god, Burt.  It's Kurt-"  
  
"Carole-"  
  
"I don't-don't know," Carole breathed into the phone, still panting for breath.  "Hold on."  She held the phone out.  "It's Puck.  He found him.  He found Kurt."  
  
Numbly, not daring to hope, Burt took the phone from her and held it to his ear.  "Hello?"  
  
"Mr. Hummel?" Puck said.  "Hang on."  
  
Someone was crying in the background.  Puck's voice sounded farther away when he murmured, "Take the phone, you have to talk to him.  He thinks you're _dead_."  
  
Burt's breath caught in his throat as the sobbing grew louder in his ear.  
  
"Talk to him," Puck urged softly.  
  
And that voice, when that voice spoke, it was unmistakably-  
  
" _Dad_."  
  
Kurt was _alive_.


	5. Chapter 5

_(If they had looked up, they might have seen Kurt's face from across the dark parking lot as he watched them helplessly through the car's backseat window.  A shadow loomed over him and moved in a steady rhythm, hands gripping his hips._  
  
 _"I told you, didn't I?" Karofsky whispered into his ear.  "They look so happy without you.")_  
  
The last time Burt had driven this wife was the day Kurt was born.  He'd almost forgotten his wife in the car, nearly driving off down the road without her.  This time, it's Finn he nearly leaves behind.  He had to reverse the car back into the driveway to let the kid drive into the back seat.  The car jolted forward when Burt hit the gas petal again and they peeled off down the road.  
  
He got stopped twice for speeding.  The first cop let him go with a warning, sensing Burt's desperation,  but the second one gave him a ticket.  Burt didn't care about that-the only thing on his mind was Kurt.    
  
They only stopped to feed Finn's massive hunger.  By the time Burt finally pulled into the parking lot of the rundown apartment building, his backside was numb but he managed to tumble out of the car, calling Kurt's name.  
  
"Mr. Hummel."  Puckerman started to walk to the car.  
  
Burt ran to him and grabbed his arms.  "Where is he?  Where's my son?"  
  
Puck led him to a samll staircase.  "I tried to get him out of there but he had some kind of panic attack when I pulled him out the door."  
  
Burt barely heard him, so intent was he to get to the right door.  
  
And then...there he was, hunched up on a couch with Rachel Berry sitting next to him, holding his hand in her own.  
  
Burt breathed out Kurt's name and rushed forward to pull his son into a bonecrushing hug.  So what if Kurt was stiff in his arms?  He was alive and right in front of them.  Burt could smell the shampoo in his hair, slightly different than Burt remembered but not too far from the kind he always used.  
  
At the door, Carole's hands were pressed against her mouth as she cried, while Finn looked at Kurt with a strange, sick look on his face.  He and Puck exchanged grim glances.  Maybe Burt would ask them about that later, but not now.  Now he just wanted to hold Kurt and make sure he was real, even if Kurt still wasn't hugging him back.  
  
When they finally parted, Burt kept a firm grip on Kurt's shoulders to keep him near and looked him over. Kurt had a black eye and a split lip.  His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken and not healed back quite right.  
  
Carole came to Burt's side so she could wrap her own arms around Kurt's neck.  Her hands cradled the back of his head as she drew him to her.  After a moment of hesitation, Finn put a hand on his shoulder.  Through it all, Kurt remained stiff and blank-faced, not meeting anyone's eyes.  There were tears in his eyes, true, but he seemed so distant, so removed from it all.  
  
Burt knew he needed those answers.  But looking at Kurt's face now, he really didn't know if he could face them.  
  
 _(It was true.  Everyone looked so happy, gathered around the entrance to Breadstix, cheeks pink from smiling and laughter and the cold.  They didn't miss him at all.)_  
  
Kurt pulled away when their hands loosened from around him.  He sat on the couch, Burt slowly sinking into the armchair beside it.  
  
"What happened?"  he asked.  Might as well start now.  
  
"It was nothing," Kurt stuttered.  "I...just-"  
  
"Nothing?  Kurt, I thought you were dead!  What the hell happened?"  
  
Kurt stared at him, mouth working silently.  Rachel reached over to take his hand but he jerked away from her touch.  
  
"Kurt," Carole said, breaking the sudden silence, "this is a beautiful dress.  Did you make it?"  
  
His shoulders sagged in relief at the change of subject.  "Yes.  It's part of my collection."  
  
"You have a collection?  I have to see it."  Carole shot Burt a warning look as Kurt led her over to where a pink, frothy concotion was on display.  He opened the closet door beside it and pulled out a long, silky coat.  
  
"It's military style."  Kurt gestured to the item in his hand with a flourish.  "Note the high collar and gold buttons, plus the nice bell-shaped hem."  He tossed it over the mannequin's shoulder so that it draped over the dress.  "The dark blue offsets the pink so well, don't you think?"  
  
While Carole fussed over the outfits Kurt showed her, Burt took the opportunity to study his son.  A lot of things were the same-the way his eyes lit up when he talked about fashion, how delicately he moved.  How he wore his pants so tight Burt feared for the kid's fertility.  But he had a nervousness about him now that hadn't been there before.  Used to be, he would just toss his head and pretend to be completely unaffected by whatever the day threw at him.  Now he was jittery, constantly wringing his hands or tugging at the overly long sleeves of his striped t-shirt.  
  
He was so distracted by the clothing in his arms that he didn't even notice Carole constantly reaching out to touch him, as if to reassure herself that he was still there.  
  
"Mr. Hummel," Rachel whispered, scooting across the couch to lean closer to him.  "I hope you don't mind, but I've called the police.  They should be here in a few minutes."  
  
Burt blinked down at the magazines on the coffee table-the mailing labels all read Kurt Karofsky-then looked up at her.  "No.  No, that's fine.  I should..."    
  
He reached into his back pocket to pull out the card Detective Wright had given him when Kurt first went missing but before he could get phone out, someone knocked on the front door.  
  
"Mr. Karofsky," a man called.  "could you open up?  It's Officer Laurent."  
  
Kurt tsked and, on his way to the door, stopped at an end table where a pair of sunglasses lay.  Slipping them on, he went to open the door.  
  
"What a pleasure to see you, Officer Laurent," he said in a familiar, sarcastic drawl.  "As you can see, I'm still alive and well."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  The older man tapped a finger between Kurt's eyes.  "Then what's with the glasses, hm?"  
  
Burt went to the door and opened it wider, ignoring Kurt's hiss of, "Dad."  
  
"Hi, I'm Burt Hummel."  He put a hand on Kurt's shoulder.  "My son Kurt disappeared five years ago.  We believe he was kidnapped-"  
  
 _"Dad!"_  
  
"-assaulted-"  
  
"Dad!"  Kurt threw a frantic look at Laurent.  "That's not what happened."  
  
"-and possibly..."  Burt swallowed hard.  "Possibly raped."  
  
Kurt, near tears, shook his head back and forth, then stomped his foot like a child.  "That didn't happen!"  
  
Burt rounded on him.  "Then why don't you tell me what happened, because I honestly don't think you would just up and leave, give up all your dreams, not for anybody.  And your face..."  
  
"You don't understand."  Kurt lifted a hand to his heaving chest as if to catch his breath.  
  
"Why don't we sit down?" Officer Laurent said.  He steered Kurt inside with a gentle hand at his elbow.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Officer Henderson was a dick, Puck decided as he watched the policeman watch Kurt with his lips curled.  Laurent looked a lot kinder and spoke like he actually cared.  
  
As Kurt and Mr. Hummel settled back into their places on the couch and the chair beside it, Kurt clutching his knees to his chest, Mrs. Hummel stood and said, "Guys, I think we should leave them alone to talk this out."  
  
She gave her husband a peck on the cheek, caressed the top of Kurt's bent head, then herded everyone else out the door.  
  
Maya waited for Puck outside the door.  "What is going on?" she asked.  "Is he actually getting help?"  
  
"It's him."  
  
She blinked at him.  "...him who?"  
  
"Him.  Kurt, the kid I told you about."  
  
"Oh.  Whoa.  That's great.  He's not dead."  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  Puck glanced at the darkening sky.  "Some stuff's about to go down and it's not going to be pretty.  You might want to go out for a little while.  It might get messy in there."  
  
"I could stay at your place."  
  
He shrugged.  "You could."  
  
Maya reached out and nudged her hand against his as they walked towards the stairs.  
  
x  
  
Burt had never wanted to shake his son any harder than he did right then.  Kurt kept his face hidden in his knees and answered the officers in short, one-word answers.  It wasn't until Laurent's sneering partner started asking pointed questions, leading Kurt to certain answers, did he perk up.  
  
"So you're telling me," Laurent threw Henderson a glare, "that you and Dave Karofsky ran away together, and you left willingly.  You do know that setting something like that up is a criminal offense?  You could go to jail, both of you."  
  
Kurt stared at Laurent.  Burt had no doubt in his mind that all he'd said were lies.  When the door opened, the one person Burt hadn't expected to see, no just yet, stepped into the room and eyed the group warily.  
  
Burt flew out of his chair, mind clouded with rage.  Kurt's cries for him to stop were just a buzz in his ears as he pounded a fist right into Karofsky's face.  Hands grabbed at him and he slapped them away, striking out blindly until the two officers managed to rip him away from the man now bleeding on the floor.  
  
Kurt rushed forward to dab at Karofsky's wounds with a tenderness that made Burt's stomach turn.  Then he remembered, through the haze of anger, hitting something small and solid.  
  
"Kurt..."  
  
"Dad, just...go."  
  
"Sir."  Laurent kept a firm grip on Burt's shoulder.  "Let's step outside so you can cool off a bit."  
  
Once outside in the cool night air, Burt whipped off his hat and ran a hand over his scalp.  
  
"I know this is hard," Laurent said.  "If that were my son in there, I'd probably do the exact same thing-lord knows, there've been times I've wanted to bundle that kid up and take him home to the wife for proper care."  
  
"You check up on him a lot?"  
  
"Off and on the past four years, yeah."  
  
"Wait."  Burt paused at something puzzling.  "Kurt's been missing for five years."  
  
"I'm real sorry to hear that."  
  
"Where was he that first year?" Burt muttered to himself.  Karofsky hadn't moved away from Lima until four years ago.  "Was someone else living here before they moved in?"  
  
"Don't know.  Sounds like a question for the manager to me.  C'mon."  Laurent clapped him on the back.  "Get some sleep.  I'll come back in the morning to question the big guy-it'll hold," he added when Burt glanced at the door.  "They can't run now."  
  
x  
  
Kurt stared at the door as the voices behind it drifted away.  When a hand landed on his back, he turned, only to be shoved against the door.  Dave brought their lips together harshly, ignoring Kurt's whimper of pain.  Instead of pushing him away, Kurt drew him in closer as their kisses grew desperate.  
  
They both knew that soon everything they had would come crumbling down around them.  
  
x  
  
"We should call everyone to let them know what's happened," Rachel said.    
  
Mr. Hummel had returned to Puck's apartment, one of his hands wrapped in a towel.  Puck set him and his wife up in his room for the night and prayed that Karofsky wouldn't make a spectacle like he had when Finn slept over.  
  
"Do you still have Santana's number?" Rachel asked him.  
  
"Yeah.  She gave it to me before she took off last year."  
  
"She'll have Brittany's, of course.  Well, I'll come by after the show and we can try to get hold of as many people as we can."  
  
"You're still doing a show?" Finn looked offended at the very idea.  
  
Rachel squeezed his arm.  "The show must go on, Finn.  Kurt understands.  Or, he would have...before..."  
  
Puck threw himself down on the couch.  "I'm going to sleep," he groaned.  "Never wake me."  
  
Later in the morning, a tapping sound at the door woke him up.  He tried to ignore it, but it grew louder the longer he lay there.  Finally, when it got to be too much, he flung off the blanket Mrs. Hummel had probably thrown over him, stumbled to the door, and threw it open, only to immediately slam it shut again.  
  
"Uh, guys," he called.  We've got a problem."  
  
x  
  
Mercedes’s last class of the day ended late, and she could only hope the kids in her after-school program had waited for her.  Most likely they’d be there.  They were a dedicated lot for the most part.  
  
“Hi,” she called out as she stepped into the band room where a handful of teenagers were gathered.  “Has everyone got their songs ready for this week?”  
  
Mercedes looked over at the boy who sat in the corner tapping at his cellphone.  “Gerald, what about you?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”  He waved a hand lazily through the air.  “I got it.”  
  
One of the girls snickered at him.  
  
“Uh-uh.”  Mercedes waved a finer at her.  “None of that here.”  
  
“Sorry, Miss Jones.”  
  
Mercedes pulled an envelope from her jeans pocket and waved it.  Inside were strips of paper with everyone’s names written on them.  Mr. Schue had once threatened to send her his sorting hat but she wasn’t about to subject her students to _that_ particular fashion faux pas.  “Let’s see who goes first.”  
  
The first person chosen, Gia Gordon, had a smoky voice, best suited for jazz bands and soul music.  She hadn’t pulled out of her shell much this year, though, which was a shame, as she clearly loved singing.  Mercedes firmly believed that, though not on the same level as, say, Rachel Berry, the could girl make it in the music business.  
  
Staci O’Conner, the sniggering girl from earlier, was pure bubble-gum pop.  Pleasing but insubstantial.  
  
After the class had gone through everything from Tim’s odd rapping skills to Daniel’s ode to headbanging, she dismissed everyone for the day.  The Kurt Hummel Music Association wasn’t an official part of the curriculum at this school but the principal let her set up shop there to give some of the less ‘motivated’ students something to do after classes let out.  The school didn’t have to pay for it, so what did they care if she borrowed a classroom once a week?  
  
Gerald hung back from the group, fiddling with the zipper on his backpack.  “Miss Jones, can I...can I talk to you for a minute?”  
  
Mercedes smiled at him.  “Sure.  What’s up?”  
  
“Ummm.  I just needed someone to talk to and you’ve been kind of cool to me.”  
  
“Kind of?”  
  
“Um, really cool?”  
  
“Better.  So what’s bothering you?”  
  
“It’s just-I think...”  He lowered his voice and leaned towards her, speaking in a rush.  “I-I think I might be gay.”  
  
Mercedes stared at him, then burst out laughing.  She bit it back at the hurt expression on his face.  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”  Another chuckle escaped her lips before she could contain it.  “I’ll love you no matter what you are.”  
  
“Really?  Then why the laughter?  ‘Cause that’s usually not a good sign.”  
  
“Now you listen to me.  The first guy I ever loved turned out to be gay, and we stayed best friends even after he told me.”  
  
“And you’re still friends?”  
  
Mercedes shifted uncomfortably.  “Well, we’ve been out of touch for a while, but I’m sure he thinks about me just as much as I think about him.”  
  
Her phone rang, startling them both.  
  
“You’d better get that,” Gerald said.  He stopped at the door to look back at her as she scrambled through her purse.  “Thanks,” he added before slipping through the door.  
  
Mercedes frowned at the name which popped up on her screen.  Her boyfriend _knew_ not to call her when she was with the kids.  
  
“Have you seen the news?”  Ted asked as soon as she picked up, not even giving her enough time to say, ‘hi’.  
  
“You know I’ve been busy.”  
  
“Honey, I think you should sit down and find a newsfeed on that phone of yours.  And I mean it about sitting down.  Look up your friend Kurt’s name.”  
  
She sank onto the piano bench.  Oh, God.  Had she been wrong all these years?  “What’s going on, Ted?”  
  
“Look it up,” he repeated.  
  
Holding the phone to her chest, trying to steady her breathing, Mercedes waited a moment before going online and typing Kurt’s name into the search engine.  His name popped up immediately, along with the words ‘found’ and ‘alive’.  
  
 _Keep it together, Mercedes, keep it together._   It wouldn’t do to have some teacher or, God forbid, a student, come in to find her falling apart.    
  
She jumped up from the bench and raced out the door, hitting the speed dial button on her phone on the way to her car.  
  
“C’mon,” Mercedes muttered into the phone while jamming the key into the ignition switch, cursing when she got sent to voice mail.  “Blaine, you better get up from whatever Italian booty call you’ve got goin’ on and _call me_.  Now!”  
  
She peeled out of the parking lot, not caring one bit about the cars she cut off in the process.  
  
This girl had a plane to catch.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_(The lightbulb overhead was like a spotlight, providing illumination as he sang his way through the entire works of Lady Gaga and Sue Sylvester-approved Madonna, as well as through The Sound of Music and Wicked.  Once he'd exhausted his familiar repretoire of melodies, he started from the top all over again.)_  
  
Burt clenched the living room curtains as he stared out at the swarm of people gathered outside.  It was insane out there.  He should have known this would get out eventually but hadn't thought it would so quickly.  
  
"Henderson," Laurent spit out.  "The idiot.  Don't worry, we'll take care of him."  
  
"My son-"  
  
"Yes.  We got a call from a Detective Sabrina Wright.  She'll be here soon to question him.  In the meantime, David's down at the station.  We'd have taken Kurt in, too, but, well...he seems to have what's called agoraphobia?  Something like that.  It'll be best if we come to him."  
  
"I need to see him again, talk to him."  
  
Laurent sighed.  "Okay.  When we go out there, just keep walking.  Don't stop."  
  
Microphones and cameras were shoved into their faces as soon as they walked out the door.  Other police officers helped to hustle them upstairs.  Burt raised his hand to knock but instead simply pushed open the unlocked door and stepped inside.  
  
Kurt sat on the floor in front of the pink dress, its hem held in his hands.  He didn't notice Burt enter the apartment, just continued to run his fingers over the fabric over and over.  
  
"Are they gone yet?" Kurt asked before Burt could reach him.  
  
"No."  
  
He walked around Burt, headed for the kitchen.  "Why don't you sit down?  I'll make breakfast."  
  
Burt eyed him carefully.  Yesterday, he'd acted a bit different than Burt remembered him, but he just seemed...off, like yesterday had been a mask.  It probably was, Burt realized.  The kid hid behind masks, even back then.    
  
Kurt sat a plate down on the coffee table, and But blinked down at it.  "Bacon?"  
  
"Dave likes bacon.  It is slightly healthier than a Coke and two Slim Jims."  He sat down in the armchair, legs crossed and arms resting primly on his knees.  He didn't have a plate for himself.  
  
"Aren't you eating?" Burt asked.  
  
Kurt stared at his hands as if inspecting them for dirt.  "I'm too upset to eat.  People started knocking on my door at four this morning."  
  
Burt tossed down the bacon he had raised to his mouth.  "We need to talk."  
  
Kurt picked at the hem of his jacket and avoided Burt's eyes.  
  
"I need to know what's going on.  I know you've been lying to me."  Nothing.  Burt dropped his head into his hands.  "Please, son.  Just tell me what happened."  
  
"I told you what happened.  I can't help it if you don't believe me."  
  
"Yeah?  If you both ran away together, then how come Karofsky didn't move away from Lima until a year after you disappeared?  Where were you then?"  
  
Kurt's breath turned light and thready.  After a few moments of silence, Burt leaned over and touched his knee.  Kurt's head jerked up.  
  
"Oh."  His eyes flittering eyes landed on Burt's plate.  "I forgot to get you something to drink."  
  
"Kurt-"  
  
"Don't get up.  I've got it."  
  
Burt watched Kurt rummage through the refridgerator.  He didn't know how to get through to him and it was frustrating as hell.  He didn't even know how to read his own kid anymore.  
  
"Kurt."  
  
Kurt slammed a glass down on the counter.  "Why are you so obsessed with this?"  
  
"Why am I-?  Because you're my son.  It's my job to obsess about stuff like this."  Burt leaned back on the couch and ran a hand over his face.  "God, I wish your mom was here.  She always knew what to say, you know?  Maybe if she were still here..."  
  
Kurt's whole body stiffened and his voice turned sarcastic.  "Sure, Dad.  You did your bestest ever.  She'd be so proud."  
  
Burt jerked as if a bucket of ice had been thrown in his face.  Kurt stared at him, confused and suddenly flustered.  
  
"I didn't mean that," he hurried to say.  "I..."    
  
In a blur of movement, he was down the hall and out of sight.    
  
After his nerves had calmed down from Kurt's outburst, Burt waited at the door he'd disappeared through and listened to him cry.  Every parental instinct he had was screaming at him to get in there and hold his boy until his tears dried up.  But he was stuck outside, unable to do anything about it.  
  
"Kurt, open the door.  C'mon, buddy, don't shut me out."  
  
The crying dwindled to a few hiccups then, just when Burt thought the moment was over, started up again.    
  
"Mr. Hummel," Laurent called out as he stepped through the door with a tall, blonde-haired woman beside him.    
  
"Sabrina," Burt sighed.  
  
"Burt, thank God."  Detective Wright wrapped her arms around him in a firm hug, then glanced at the door he had been leaning on.  "Is that him?"  
  
"He's a little upset right now.  We had some words."  
  
"Did he say what happened?"  
  
"Kurt says he and that Karofsky kid were having some kind of affair and they ran off together."  
  
"No way," she scoffed.  They both knew that the evidence didn't lie.  
  
"I know.  But I don't know what to do."  
  
Sabrina knocked on the door.  "Kurt?  You need to open the door."  
  
Anger surged up through Burt's body when Karofsky suddenly appeared, a couple of officers flanking him as he stepped inside.  He strode towards Kurt's door at a particularly loud sound, nudging Burt out of the way without so much as a second thought.  
  
All he had to say was, "open up," and the knob turned.  Kurt threw himself into Karofsky's arms, burying his face against the bigger man's chest.  Karofsky backed them into what appeared to be a bathroom, then shut the door before anyone could protest.    
  
Burt heard water running and what sounded like the rattling of a medicine bottle.  When the door opened again, Kurt emerged from the bathroom with eyes going out of focus, leaning limping against Karofsky's side.  
  
"What did you give him?" Burt asked.  
  
"Something to help him sleep."  Karofsky shouldered past Burt and headed for the bedroom the two of them shared, where he lay Kurt down and covered him with a blanket.  
  
Kurt curled up, then stopped, unmoving, simply breathing in and out as his eyelids started to droop.  
  
Sabrina shook her head.  "I'll come back later.  Call me when he wakes up."  
  
Burt knelt beside the bed and took one of Kurt's hands in his own, running a thumb over his soft, pale skin. Karofsky turned the bedside radion on and let the music drfit quietly over the room.  
  
"Leave it," he said when Burt tried to turn off the light.  
  
Frowning, Burt shut the bedroom door on his son's sleeping form.  This was the first time Burt had seen him look peaceful since they'd found him.  
  
 _(Eventually, he stopped singing.)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains suicide, character death, and attempted murder. Plus, we're about to get into some disturbing stuff, though not overly graphic, so please heed the warnings.

_("Drink this."_  
  
 _So.  He had a choice: the gun or the unknown.)_  
  
Kurt woke up groggy and tired from the drug which was still circulating through his system.  The argument with his father came back to his sluggish  brain, causing him to curl back up in shame.  Dave sat on the edge of the bed, back to Kurt, and waited while Kurt sat up slowly and crawled towards him.  
  
He ran a hand up Dave's back and over his broad shoulders, then leaned in to press a line of kisses up the side of his neck.  The muscles under Kurt's hands were stiff with tension so he tightened his grip and dug his fingers into the unyeilding tissue.  The two of them might fight sometimes, but there were nice moments, too.  Soft kisses in the hallway, making love on the couch with Christmas lights twinkling like stars around them, pushed against a wall screaming no-  
  
Not that that happened.  Why would Kurt ever say no?  
  
He huffed out a breath of annoyance when he realized Dave still sat hunched down, immune to Kurt's careful minstrations.  "What's wrong?"  
  
Silence was his only answer.    
  
Maybe if Kurt made something nice for dinner it would put him in a better mood.  Some nice candlelight and some romantic music, and _crying, crying, crying-_  
  
Not that that happened.  
  
Kurt padded down the hall towards the kitchen, but a hand jerked him around hard enough to cause a flash of pain to travel up his arm at the sudden movement.  Before he could cry out, Dave swooped down and captured his lips in a searing kiss reminiscent of their first, one that was full of heated, overwhelming need.  That other Kurt had been so stupid.  He just didn't know.  
  
He didn't know how confining love could be.  
  
Those warm lips lingered over his own, then Dave broke away and stepped back.  Kurt's breath hitched at the sight of the gun in his hands.  It'd bee a long time since the last time he'd seen it.  
  
 _Didn't happen, didn't happen, didn't happen._  
  
"I didn't tell."  Kurt's voice was small, bewildered.  
  
"I know," Dave said and pulled the trigger.  
  
x  
  
Burt was sitting on the bed, leaning into Carole's comforting embrace, when the first gunshot went off.  
  
"What was that?" Carole asked, looking up at the ceiling.  
  
Oh, no...no, no, no.  
  
At the second shot, Burt leapt from the bed and barreled through Puck's apartment, past where the kids sat frozen, and out the front door.  
  
"I have to go, Tina," Rachel said into her phone.  "I'll call you later."  
  
It was strangely empty outside.  The reporters had stampeded upstairs at the first sound of gunfire, and Burt had to push his way through them, not sparing them a punch or two if they got in his way.  
  
Finally, he plunged through the door and cried out Kurt's name.  
  
The police officer were clumped together in the narrow hallway, one of them talking urgently into a phone.  The first stood by Karofsky, who lay on his back and was obviously dead.  Burt couldn't bring himself to feel any sympathy for the boy.  But Kurt...  
  
Kurt writhed in pain, his chest bloody, teeth red, while his feet dug at the carpet.  The officer next to him had taken his hand and was using his free one to keep pressure on the wound.  
  
"An ambulance in on the way," Laurent said as Burt dropped to Kurt's side.  
  
Kurt clenched tightly onto his father's hand and rolled frightened eyes to him.  His teeth were gritted against the pain, but small grunts still escaped his mouth.  
  
"It'll be okay," Burt said, running a hand along Kurt's face, trying to give what comfort he could even as blood seeped into the denim of his jeans.  He scrambled after the ambulance when it arrived, keeping Kurt's hand in his own.  
  
 _(He lifted the glass to his lips and tossed it back defiantly.)_  
  
x  
  
"I don't get it."  
  
Puck glared at Finn from where he paced the floor.  "It's a murder-suicide.  What's not to get?"  
  
"Dude.  Kurt's not dead."  
  
Rachel, still in stage makeup from the play she'd ditched, stood from her seat and smiled at someone over Puck's shoulder.  Quinn strode towards them pulling a piece of gray luggage behind her.  She still looked beautiful, if a little disheveled, with her long, blonde hair and smooth skin.  Puck glanced at Maya and found her grinning at him knowingly.  Huh.  
  
"What is going on?" Quinn asked.  "I thought you guys said Kurt was fine and the next thing I know, I'm rushing to the hospital 'cause he's not?"  
  
"Karofsky," Puck said by way of explanation.  
  
Quinn rolled her eyes.  "I know that."  She scowled down at her suitcase, where a rolled up magazine stuck out from one of the pockets.  "Have you seen the tabloids?  Their faces are all over the front pages."  She looked at her old friends uncertainly.  "Did he hurt Kurt too badly?"  
  
"Barring this recent unfortunate incident," Rachel said, "I think he's more traumatized inside than out."  
  
Quinn turned to Puck.  "I'm surprised you haven't stormed Karofsky's room and beaten the crap out of him yet."  
  
"Yeah, well, guy's dead," Puck grumbled.  
  
"Oh."  Quinn took a deep breath.  "I'll pray for him, then."  
  
Puck shot her an incredulous look.  "Pray?  If you want to pray for someone, pray for Kurt."  
  
"We'll be praying for both of them, Puck."  
  
"Screw that.  You do your little prayer circle by yourselves."  He stalked off down the hall.  Unbelievable.  If Kurt could hear them now, he would have been foaming at the mouth.  People always liked to forget that the guy was an atheist.  He wouldn't want their prayers.  
  
x  
  
Kurt, hair mussed and expression slack, looked like a teenager again.  The sleeves of his hopital gown were short, baring his thin arms.  Burt ran a hand up the one he held and stared.  Two long, deep scars ran crossways in precise lines towards Kurt's wrist, making Burt think of the blood-soaked t-shirt found on the side of the road.  
  
Carole waited with him as Kurt drifted in and out of lucidity.  When he finally spoke, his words were faint and slurred.  
  
"Dad?"  He blinked lazily up at his father's face.  
  
"I'm right here," Burt said, gripping his hand tighter.  
  
Kurt smiled a bit.  "Heh.  Funny."  
  
"Yeah?  What's that, buddy?"  
  
"You wanted to know..."  His eyes fluttered, threatening to close.  He gave a short, weak laugh.  "Came out just to get...shoved back in.  It's _ironic_."  
  
Burt looked at him, puzzled.  So far as he knew, Kurt was still an openly gay man.  That had never changed.  
  
Kurt's eyes closed and he muttered, "Smelled like old lady mothballs."  
  
 _'You wanted to know...'_  
  
The truth hit Burt like a sledgehammer, stealing his breath away.  
  
 _'You wanted to know.'_  
  
And that was more truth than Burt could take.  He couldn't even bear to look at Kurt's face before he up and walked away.  
  
"Burt?" Carole called from the coffee machine in the waiting room.  "Are you okay?  You look terrible.  Sit down."  
  
He collapsed into one of the plastic chairs, Carole hovering over him nervously.  "He was in a closet."  
  
"What?"  She turned to Finn.  "Go get a doctor."  
  
Burt reached out and pulled her close, clutching her to him like a lifeline.  
  
x  
  
In a little apartment tucked away in France, Blaine rolled out of bed and went to the window to stare out at the cityscape laid out before him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The first guy Blaine slept with after Kurt disappeared had been small.  Delicate.  Very Kurt-like.  Blaine ruined any chance of a repeated encounter by crying on the boy's shoulder immediately afterwards and had since learned to steer clear of any others who reminded him of the first person he ever loved.  
  
For the last three and a half years he'd been, as Mercedes would put it, 'fucking his way across Europe.'  It was crudely put but accurate, Blaine thought.  He'd slept with a lot of men and most of his living expenses-along with an unhealthy amount of booze-were charged to the credit card his parents refused to cancel.    
  
Nice was a lovely city, but it wasn't Paris.  Kurt would've loved Paris.  
  
"Get the phone," Remy grumbled from the bed when a hip-hop ringtone sounded from inside Blaine's backpack.  Remy (Renee?) was tall, with sun-reddened skin, a goatee, and too much muscle.  Not Blaine's type at all.    
  
Sighing, Blaine abandoned his glass of wine and dug around for his cell phone.  It was probably just Mercedes, calling to gripe about his aimless existence, he was sure.  
  
His eyebrows rose at the number of calls he'd missed.  Most of the recent ones were from Mercedes, of course.  She was the only person from Lima he kept in touch with.  Some were from his parents.  After a moment of internal debate, he played Mercedes's message first.  
  
"Blaine," her voice rang out.  "You better get up from whatever Italian booty call you've got goin' on and call me.  Now"  
  
She thought Blaine was still in Italy?  That was...Blaine thought back and grimaced.  He'd left Rome three weeks ago.    
  
"Where the _hell_ have you been?" were Mercedes's first words to him.  
  
"I'm fine.  How are you?"  
  
"Mad at you, Blaine.  Really mad.  You pull a disappearing act on me now?  Why didn't you answer your phone?  
   
There was a pause and he could have heard he heard her sniffling, as if she were crying.  
  
"Damn, boy, you haven't been keeping up with the news from home, have you?"  
  
"I'm in France, Mercedes.  Ohio doesn't exactly make the front page here."  
  
Mercedes laughed...and cried.  Strong, mama-bear Mercedes Jones was crying?  Blaine sat down on the bed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.  Renee (Ray?) left the bed, grumbling in French, and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
"What's going on?" Blaine asked.  
  
"It's Kurt."  Mercedes laugh was wild and a little frightening.  
  
Blaine swallowed.  "They found his-they found him?"  
  
"Oh, yes, they found him, alright."  
  
Blaine closed his eyes, but they snapped open again when Mercedes added, "He's in New York."  
  
He curled in on himself, a strange grunt falling from his lips.  
  
"Get on a plane," Mercedes said, quiet but firm.  "Get on a plane and get here.  I'll wait for you."  
  
"Thank you," Blaine whispered.  
  
x  
  
Back at the hospital, Carole watched Burt gently shook Kurt awake.  It was to think that all those times she went grocery shopping, cheered at Finn's football games, or made love to her husband, Kurt was somewhere nearby, frightened and hurt and stuffed in a closet.  
  
Once Kurt was awake and aware, he blinked up at the people surrounding his bed, confusion written across his face.  The drugs currently in his system weren't so heavy as to keep him loopy anymore.  His mind was sharp enough for Detective Wright to talk to him and expect coherent answers.  
  
But he said, "I don't know what you're talking about," when asked about what he'd told Burt.  "Why would I be in a closet?  Dave would never do that."  
  
Sabrina glanced at Burt, who nodded and leaned closer to Kurt.  "You said you were in a closet."  Well, implied, but Kurt didn't need to know that.  "Who else would have done that?"  
  
Kurt shook his head, knotting the sheets up with his hands, clutching them in a white-knuckled grip.  "That didn't happen."  
  
"Kurt-"  
  
"I never said that!  Stop lying."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Burt muttered.  He stood up and hurried from the room.  
  
Carole waited, feeling helpless as Sabrina put her hands on Kurt's shoulders.  He looked at her with a thundercloud of an expression.  
  
"Kurt, listen to me," she said.  "David is dead.  He can't hurt you now."  
  
"It didn't happen," Kurt hissed.  "It didn't happen."  He raised a hand to his forehead and started to shake.  He repeated the phrase like a mantra, over and over.  
  
When Carole tried to pull him to her for comfort, he lashed out, driving her back.  The machines surrounding him began to beep out his distress, bringing a nurse to sedate his thrashing body.  With the drugs pumping through his system, he slowly fell back into unconsciousness.  
  
"I'm going back to Lima," Sabrina said.  "There has to be something, some place, I missed the first time."  
  
Carole nodded absently, her heart beating wildly in her chest.  
  
"Mom?"  Finn hesitated at the door.  "There's a man here looking for Burt."  
  
A well-dressed man stepped into view.  Carole glared at him.  "We're not talking to reporters."  
  
The man stepped smoothly around Finn and approached Kurt's bed.  "My name's William Crawford and I'm not a reporter.  I'm a lawyer."  
  
Carole's lip curled.  "We aren't filing any lawsuits, either."  
  
Crawford smiled and took a seat next to her.  "I'm afraid you've misunderstood my intentions, Mrs. Hummel.  I work for the Andersons.  They sent me to help you with anything you might need."  
  
"The Andersons.  Blaine's parents?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"I'm sorry, but we're not exactly in the same tax bracket as the Andersons.  We couldn't possibly afford you."  
  
"They've agreed to pay any expense my services incur."  
  
Carole stared at him.  "That's...that's very kind of them."  
  
He glanced at Kurt.  "They know how much that young man meant to their son."  
  
"He means a lot to all of us."  
  
Carole found Burt in one of the hallways, smacking his hand against a vending machine.  
  
"Here," she said, nudging him aside.  "You have to hit it just right."  
  
A Snickers bar tumbled out of its rack and hit the bottom of the machine.  
  
"Finn taught me that trick when you were in the hospital.  Nothing gets between my boy and a bag of Doritos."  
  
Burt stared at the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line.  
  
"Are you going to be all right?" Carole asked.  
  
"I want to kill him."  
  
"Burt!"  Carole stared at him, shocked.  "Kurt can't help himself, you know that."  
  
"Not Kurt.  Karofsky.  And Kurt, just a little.  Why is he _defending_ him?"  
  
A white business card suddenly appeared under their noses.  
  
"I took the liberty of contacting a well-reputed psychiatrist in the area," Crawford said.  "She's willing to make house calls."  
  
Carole took the card and glanced at the curling script written across the front.  "Um, thank you."  
  
He then disappeared from wherever he'd come from.  Weird, but kind of nice.  At least there was someone there who had better ideas than their own flailing attempts.


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt's friends from Glee Club filed into his room, all teary-eyed and touchy-feely. He squirmed every time one of them touch him. He'd never been touchy-feely to begin with but Puck figured that with what he'd been through, it wasn't surprising that Kurt had gotten worse about it.

"I made you a card," Brittany whispered as she crept to the side of his bed. "I'm sorry. It's not in crayon this time."

She pressed a square piece of paper into his hands. Inside the card was the very first picture the group had ever taken together for the yearbook. 'We Missed You,' was written underneath it. Kurt pressed his hands quickly together, smashing the pages shut.

Rachel smiled big and clapped her hands. "It is so great to see everybody-"

"Most everybody," Quinn interrupted.

"Yes, thank you, Quinn." Rachel threw her a withering glance. "As I was about to say-I have the perfect song for this occasion."

"Are you really going to use now to stroke your already large ego?" Santana asked. She ran one of her hands up and down Kurt's arm.

A hurt looked crossed Rachel's face. "N-no. I meant one we could all sing."

"Sorry," Santana muttered, looking away.

Clearing her throat, Rachel put a smile back on her face and leaned over to bump a shoulder lightly against Kurt's, careful not to hurt him.

"You've got a friend in me," she sang.

"Seriously?" Puck asked, raising an eyebrow. But he was smiling, too, and that smile spread around the room like wildfire.

Everyone else joined in when Rachel got to the third verse. Everyone but Kurt. He watched them sing, the polite smile on his face never really reaching his eyes, and picked at the food in front of him. Rachel nudged him with her elbow to coax him to join them, but he shrank away and stared down at his lap. 

The last note of the song trailed off into awkward silence.

"Okay, guys," Carole said as she came into the room. "I think it's time to say goodnight."

Kurt accepted their hugs and kisses with apathy. The last to go was Rachel, who lingered at the door before giving him a small wave and stepping outside.

"You didn't eat much," Burt noted, commenting on the food pushed around Kurt's plate.

Tossing Brittany's card on the bedside table, Kurt folded his arms, a sullen expression on his face. "It tastes funny."

"It's hospital food. It's supposed to taste funny."

"Kurt," Carole said. She sat beside Burt and took his hand. "Once we get you out of here, we're taking you home."

Kurt brightened. "Really?" He paused, looking troubled. "Is there still-you know. Blood?"

Burt and Carole exchanged glances. "No, Kurt. We mean home. Our home."

That thundercloud was back on Kurt's face. "I want to go back to my home."

"Lime is your home," Burt said. He sighed when Kurt opened his mouth again. 

"You can't make me. I'm a grown man."

"Yes, we can," Carole said. Her hand tightened around Burt's. "You're in no condition to be making decisions. We've talked to a lawyer and it's going through right now."

"What is?"

"Until you're better, your father and I will decide what's best for you."

x

"How's it going?" Maya asked, sidling up to where Puck leaned against the wall. There was a lot of yelling coming from Kurt's room, most of it from Kurt.

"I don't know," Puck said. "But I think his head's going to start spinning around any second now."

At a sudden rattle, Puck took a look around the corner of the door to see Kurt trying to get out of bed, his food tray pushed to one side, but before his feet could touch the floor, he clutched at his injured chest and sat back with an 'oof'. The older Hummels rushed to settle him in bed properly.

Burt caught sight of Puck at the door and went to him. "Puckerman," he said. "I need you to do something for me."

"Yeah?"

"Can you go to Kurt's apartment and pack up his things-some clothes, his toothbrush, anything else he might need?"

"He really going back to Lima?"

"Whether he wants to or not."

So that was how Puck ended back up in front of 'that' apartment with a few boxes and a roll of tape. He had to pick the lock and duck under police tape to get inside, though. All of the nonessentials were going to be stored in both Maya's and Puck's places until Finn could come back for them. The problem was figuring out which things Kurt would consider essential. He did seem to still care a lot about his hair, so his skin care products were probably going to be the Holy Grail of essential items. 

Puck skirted carefully around the blood stains on the hallway carpet and went into the bathroom. He grabbed the items with weird or fancy labels, leaving behind the simpler ones. Those looked like things Karofsky would use-no way was Puck bringing them to Lima.

Kurt’s towels were probably expensive, too, so he’d want those. Puck opened the bathroom closet door and started to pull soft, fluffy towels off the shelf. They were so nice he was seriously considering keeping a few for himself.

As he grabbed the last towel, a small plastic wrapper fell from it and floated to the floor. Puck stared at it a moment, then shrugged. It was just a wrapper.

“Noah,” Maya called from the living room. “What do we do with these dresses? It’d be a shame to just pack them up.”

Hoisting the now full box up, Puck closed the door and left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

_(Karofsky's hands were warm and calloused as they roamed his body, insistently traveling wherever they pleased.  Kurt clung to him and panted, pressed against the wall.  Karofsky chanted the same words over and over and ground their hips together._  
  
 _"You love me.  Tell me you love me.)_  
  
Blaine rushed through the airport, darting around the press of people, until he caught sight of Mercedes waving at him from the back of the crowd.  He slung his backpack over one shoulder and ran towards her, opening his arms for a hug.  She slapped him so hard his head rocked back, then pulled him just as quickly into a hug.  
  
"I told you," Mercedes fiercely whispered.  "I told you."  
  
Blaine wrapped his arms around her back, and they clung to each other.  Mercedes finally pulled away and wiped at her eyes.  
  
"Look at you," she said.  "Kurt would be appalled at your fashion sense."  
  
"He always was," Blaine laughed.  
  
"Is that all you brought?"  
  
"My whole life, all in one bag."  
  
"That is just sad."  
  
He laughed again and slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked but paused when, at one of the newstands, he saw Kurt's high school photo on the cover of a magazine.  
  
"Don't look," Mercedes said, pulling him away.  "Those things are awful."  
  
Mercedes talked on the phone while they waited for a cab to pass by.  Blaine's leg jiggled impatiently at the delay.  
  
"Got the address."  Mercedes tucked her phone away.  "You okay?"  
  
"Nervous.  What if...what if he doesn't want me there?"  
  
Mercedes stared out at the traffic.  "Quinn doesn't think he wants anyone there.  But, god, I've waited years for this.  I have to see him, at least once."  
  
She practically lunged at the first cab that appeared.  Blaine's nerves were running high as they raced through the streets, through lingering reporters and security, until they stood in front of old, familiar faces.  
  
"You look like shit," Santana said.  
  
"And your hair looks like carpet," Brittany added, petting Blaine's wild curls.  
  
Blaine's hand flew to the top of his head in a frantic effort to mix the mess that was his hair.  "Oh, god.  I need to get cleaned up."  
  
Mercedes patted his arm.  "Find a bathroom.  I'm going to go on ahead."  Taking a deep breath, she headed off to find Kurt's room.  
  
Once in one of the men's rooms, Blaine stared at himself in the mirror, horrified at his own reflection.  His chin sported two days through of stubble, his hair wasn't brushed, and his clothes were rumpled from the eight hour plane ride.  
  
Over the years, Blaine had dreams of where he and Kurt met up in this very city.  He'd catch sight of a suave, well-dressed man on the street, who would turn and smile at him.  It would be Kurt.  They'd run to each other like the long-lost lovers they were and kiss, then exchange words like, 'I missed you' and 'I love you.'  Kurt wasn't supposed to be in a hospital, used and abused.  
  
He was supposed to be dead.  
  
Fumbling with his bag, Blaine found a brush and ran it through his hair.  He hadn't thought to pick up any hair gel on the way to the hospital, though.  His only thought had been, _'Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.'_  
  
Finn waited for him in the hallway, hands thrust into his pockets.  "You know what happened, right?"  
  
"Not everything, but I've heard some things."  
  
"It was bad.  Real bad.  So be careful with him."  
  
"Heh.  This sounds strangely like your 'you hurt him, I hurt you' speech."  Blaine's smile wilted at Finn's look.  
  
"The guy I should be hurting is dead, so what am I supposed to do about that?"  
  
Before all this happened, Blaine might have had a pat answer at hand but now...now he had no idea what to say.  
  
"C'mon," Finn said, leading him onward.  
  
Blaine knew they were near Kurt's room when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Hummel standing in the hallway and staring into an open door from which crying could be heard.  Mrs. Hummel greeted Blaine with a kiss on the cheek and let him peek into the room.  
  
Mercedes sat on a hospital bed with her back to him.  She cradled someone's head against her shoulder and rocked back forth.  Blaine turned back to the Hummels.  
  
"Is that him?" he whispered.  
  
"Yeah," Mr. Hummel said.  His eyes were bright with tears and Mrs. Hummel had her hand clasped in his.  
  
Blaine turned back to the door and waited until the cries dwindled to mere sniffles, then cautiously stepped into the room, his heart pounding.  The person in Mercedes's arms was definitely Kurt.  The area around one of his eyes was a faded purple.  It looked like he'd been punched in the face, as well, but it was Kurt.  
  
They turned when Blaine cleared his throat.  Mercedes gave him a watery smile, but Kurt looked as if he'd been socked in the face (again).  He shook his head at Blaine's approach.  
  
"No."  
  
Blaine froze in place.  "Kurt-"  
  
"No.  I don't want you here."  
  
"But it's Blane."  Mercedes brushed some hair out of Kurt's eyes.  "Don't you want to see Blaine?"  
  
"No."  Kurt dropped his head back on her shoulder.  "No.  Please, just-make him go away.  Please go away."  
  
Blaine backed away, eyes wide, barely aware of Mrs. Hummel taking him gently by the shoulder and steering him away.  She spoke to him softly but he could barely hear her over the sound of his heart breaking.  
  
The two of them were supposed to be forever.  
  
 _(I love you.)_  
  
x  
  
When Mercedes saw Kurt half-sitting in that hospital bed, she didn't notice first that his eyes were blank.  She just dropped her purse and stepped into the room, hands over her mouth and tears streaking down her face.  
  
"Kurt?"  
  
Carole started to stand, mouth open to warn her, but Burt shook his head.  They both watched her approach warily.  
  
Mercedes repeated Kurt's name but he still stared off into nothing, his mouth hanging open a bit.  She reached out to touch him and he flinched, finally turning to look at her.  His face looked so young, so confused, as he took her in.  
  
"M-Mercedes?"  
  
She ran to him and threw her arms around him, easing up when she noticed the bandages wrapped across his chest.  He was tense at first but then his chest heaved and he cried, a broken, keening sound, body limp.  Mercedes drew his head to her shoulder with one hand and rubbed circles on his back with the other.  
  
"Shhh," she whispered.  "Hush, baby."    
  
They swayed back and forth together until a cleared throat interrupted them.  The Hummels were gone, Blaine left in their place.  His eyes were locked on Kurt's as he slowly made his way closer.  
  
It hurt to watch Blaine's rejection.  Surely, out of all of them, Kurt would have wanted to see him most of all.  
  
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Hummel said as she led him out of the room.  "You should go now."  
  
Blaine gave one last, lingering look at Kurt, who curled up in Mercedes's arms.  
  
"Kurt-" Mercedes tried.  
  
"No."  He caught her shirt in his hands and twisted at the material, refusing to look up at her.  
  
"It might help to talk about it."  Even if she wasn't quite sure she was ready to hear it.  
  
He was silent a moment, then asked, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, "Did you miss me?"  
  
Mercedes wrapped her arms back around him.  "I missed you every single day."  
  
"I saw them," he breathed.  "I saw them, but you weren't there."  
  
She pulled away to look at him.  "Saw who?"  
  
"I dunno."  Kurt buried his face into the crook of her neck.  "Can you sing something?  I always liked your voice."  
  
Mr. Hummel gave her a pained smile and nodded, so Mercedes opened her eyes to sing.  Kurt's breath, hot against her neck, began to steady.  When she finished one song, she started another, until he'd fallen asleep against her.  Even then, she kept going, linking their hands together and waiting.  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

LIMA, OHIO

Sabrina Wright drove back into Lima almost five years after she'd left it. The Hummel case had been her first big case and, especially now, she knew it would be the one that all her others would measure up to.

The Karofskys lived in the same house, on a tree lined road in the middle of town. The only difference between then and now were the handful of reporters that dotted the lawn like annoying garden gnomes. When Sabrina stepped out of her, they surrounded her, camera raised and microphones thrust towards her face.

She shoved her way past them and barked, "Back off before I have you all arrested," never breaking stride.

"Bitch," one of the female reporters muttered.

Sabrina ignored the woman, pulled out her badge, and rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Karofsky looked older than Sabrina remembered her, with dark circles under her eyes and lines that must have sprung up overnight.

"Hi. You may not remember me-"

"Detective Wright." Mrs. Karofsky's voice was weary, dulled from grief. "What can I do for you?"

"May I come in?"

Mrs. Karofsky stepped aside. Mr. Karofsky-Paul, he'd insisted on being called on her last visit-sat on the couch in his suit. His tie hung loose and the fabric of his jacket lay rumpled. He looked up at her with the same dull eyes as his wife when Sabrina sat down beside him.

"I don't get it," he said. "I sent him money to help with rent."

Well, that was random. She supposed he could be given some slack, though. He was still a grieving father, no matter the circumstances.

“I’m sorry to intrude at a time like this, but we need to go back over the list of people your son had contact with during the first investigation. Any small connection could be helpful.”

“You found the boy. Isn’t the case closed now?” Mrs. Karofsky asked. 

“Yes, but I need to know what happened. Kurt’s not stable enough yet to tell us.”

"Most of his friends from before he..." Paul trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Came out?" Sabrina supplied.

"Yeah." 

"He didn't, though." Mrs. Karofsky's face hardened. "It was that boy who spread those awful rumors."

That ben Israel kid had been the one to out David Karofsky and the woman knew it. Sabrina decided to ignore her and turned back to Paul, who shook his head.

"He didn't have many friends to begin with and most of them've have moved away."

She pulled out her notebook. "That's okay. Anyone could be important, no matter how small the connection."

Together, they went through the list she'd compiled those few years ago but very little new came up. She'd have to go down the list again and talk to all these people.

"I don't get it," Paul said when Sabrina stood to leave. "I just don't get it."

She left him slumped over with his elbows resting on his knees. Mrs. Karofsky's hollow eyes followed her trek to the door.

x

The last time Sabrina had seen Helen Agnew, the high school's retired librarian, her expansive property had been a mess of overgrown weeds and peeling paint. It wasn't all nice and shiny, now, of course, but that year and a half David spent doing odd jobs for her had held up nicely the past five years.

Sabrina walked the cobble stone steps carefully, half-expecting them to wobble under her feet, but they held firm. The door opened as she approached and an old, wrinkled face peered out at her.

"Hello," Sabrina called out. She went through the same spiel she'd done for the past five houses-'Hi, I'm Detective Wright, Hummel case, new information'-and it was getting to be tedious.

Mrs. Agnew greeted her warmly at the top step and ushered her inside.

"Of course I remember you," she said. "You were here about the Hummel boy."

"Yes, that's right. Kurt Hummel. Do you remember him?"

"He and his friends sang the cutest song in my library once."

"You're sure you didn't see him at all around August the Third?"

"No, no. The Hummels don't generally come around here." She added in a whisper, "His father is a mechanic."

Ooh, classism. Nice. Maybe it would be best if Sabrina didn't mention the Hummels directly. "Did you ever see David with anyone, a friend, maybe? Before or after the third?"

"He did have a friend over, but it couldn't have been that Hummel boy. David was a good boy. I don't care what lies those newspeople spread."

"What did he look like?" Sabrina pressed. "David's friend."

Mrs. Agnew waved a hand through the air. "Oh, I don't know."

"You didn't see him at all?"

"Oh, no. He was upstairs and I didn't want to disturb the two of them." Her voice lowered back into that conspiratorial whisper. "Lord knows the things those kinds of boys get up to."

"But...if you didn't ever see him, how did you know anyone was up there?"

Mrs. Agnew smiled brightly. "Why, I could hear him singing."

x

Sabrina practically raced up the wide steps. All the doors upstairs were made of thick, hard wood. If anyone had somehow gotten trapped behind one, they would have been hard to break down. However, none of the bedrooms she'd seen so far turned of any useful evidence. There should be, at the very least, a few bloodstains from the cut on Kurt's arm, the one that had made everyone assume the worst.

The main bathroom was nice, with a clubfoot tub and a big mirror over the sink, but what drew Sabrina's eye was its closet door, which stood partially open. The shelves had been taken out. Moving the door revealed three deadbolts to keep it shut and inside the shelves had been taken out.

She moved it again to get a better look and closed her eyes at what she saw. There were scratch marks on the inside of the door, as if someone had repeatedly scratched at it in an effort to get out. The inside was big enough to stand upright but they would've had to tuck in their legs to sit. She could only hope the darker spots that marred the floor had only come from the wounds on Kurt's arm.

Above her head, a light bulb swung loosely back and forth, its cord still running underneath the wide space between door and tile. It was still plugged up but didn't turn on when she pulled the chain. That explanined the heavy-duty flashlight sitting in the corner, then.

"Damn."

She'd just found Kurt's prison cell.


	13. Chapter 13

Burt knew his kid could get an attitude, what with his sharp tongue and built-in defensiveness, but they used to act as shields against hurt or to strike back when he felt threatened.  Now, Kurt was just...grouchy.  
  
All.  Day.  Long.  
  
Not that he didn't have good reason to be.  Still, Burt couldn't help but sigh at every complaint that passed through his kid's mouth.  
  
"Sweatpants, Puck."  Kurt held up the offending item between two pinched fingers.  _"Sweatpants."_  
  
Puck threw up his hands.  "Hey, they were in _your_ closet."  
  
Burt winced at the word 'closet'.  Kurt just let out a disgruntled, "hmph," and slid the sweats up his legs, though he nearly fell over when he tried to pull them up past his hips.  Burt righted him carefully and took the rest of the clothes from Puck's hands.  The right side of Kurt's chest had taken most of the damage and, even though the bullet had missed anything vital, the wound hurt and made things like dressing difficult.  
  
"Where's Finn?"  Kurt asked, swatting off Puck's hands.  
  
"Bringing the car around," Burt said.  "We're going out the back way."  
  
Damn nosy reporters.  They were like flies out there.  
  
A nurse came in with a wheel chair and pushed it to where Kurt still sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"I can walk," he grumbled.  
  
"It's just protocol."  
  
When Kurt finally sat, a sour look on his face, Puck took the handles of the chair from the nurse and gave her a flirty grin.  They managed to get to the main corridor leading outside without incident, everyone else following along behind them, until Kurt caught sight of the doors up ahead.    
  
He stiffened, hands tightening on the wheelchair's armrest.  "Wait!  I, um, don't feel good.  I should p-probably check back in, stay a little longer."  
  
Puck looked at him as if he were crazy.  "I thought you couldn't wait to get out of here."  
  
Kurt was scared to go outside, Burt realized.  He could have kicked himself for not remembering.    
  
Somewhere in Kurt's new bag of pills was a bottle of anti-anxiety medication.  A shrink from the hospital had talked to Kurt not long after he woke up.  All he'd done was stare at her, silent and unmoving, so she simply prescribed him some medicine and wished him well.  Now, Burt handed two pills out to Kurt and waited.  
  
"Here.  Drink this."  Mike held out a cup of water.  
  
Kurt stared at it with wide eyes, then, with a sudden movement, tossed the pills into his mouth and gulped down the water.  His eyes were hooded and cautious as they headed for the door, but the drugs had made him too groggy to protest.  Mercedes walked beside him and rubbed at his shoulder.  She was the only one of the whole group to have made any sort of connection with him, though even she was let in only so far before Kurt retreated back into his shell of denial.  
  
Finn waited for  them outside with the car.  He jumped out when the doors opened and held open the passenger side door so Kurt could stumble inside, the drugs costing him in the coordination department.  He got sandwiched in between Finn and Mercedes for the ride back to Lima.  Burt watched him in the rearview mirror.    
  
Kurt leaned against Mercedes shoulders, his gaze fixed with a strange intensity on the scenery passing by.  He'd done this at the hospital before, zoned everything out, usually when stressed or if pressed for unpleasant details.  He was stressed all around, really, and Burt didn't know how to help him with that.  
  
Crawford had given Carole a list of doctors near Lima before they'd left, a whole booklet filled with business cards.  Burt didn't know where the man got them but he was definitely calling one.  Kurt had to talk to someone if he was ever going to get better.  
  
x  
  
Kurt watched as the scenery slowly changed from the hustle of city life to something more sedate, more _suburban_.  A line of cars trailed behind them like a funeral procession.  Kurt shifted his eyes to the mirror up front and saw his dad looking back at him, so he shifted his head on Mercedes's arm and nestled closer to her, eyes going back to the window.  
  
In the front seat, Carole reached over and gripped Burt's hand in hers.  
  
Kurt fought to keep his eyes open but by the time they crossed the Lima city limits sign, he'd fallen into a light doze.  He woke at a whirring sound but it was dark and the only light came from the car's headlights bouncing off a whitewashed wall directly ahead.  
  
Carole leaned over, smiled at Kurt, then shook Finn's shoulder.  
  
"We're home," she whispered.  
  
They were in the garage, Kurt figured, but it was too dark to see much.  He clutched at Mercedes's arm as he got out of the car.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah."  Kurt's voice was faint and his heart pounded in his chest.  It was just so dark.  
  
A sliver of light appeared, slowly revealing the stark interior of a kitchen.  Kurt barreled through the door into safety.  Once inside, though, he froze at the unfamiliar surroundings.  
  
"This isn't home."  
  
"Isn't it cool?"  Finn nudged Kurt out of the way so he, Carole, and Mercedes could come in.  The front door opened just as Mercedes shut the garage door behind her.  
  
"Mr. Hummel?" Quinn called from the living room.  "The door was unlocked.  I hope it's okay that we let ourselves in."  
  
As Carole went to help the other kids settle in, Kurt rounded on his father, wringing his hands together.  "What happened to our house?"  
  
"We moved," Burt said.  "Finn's moving into the old place."  
  
Kurt frowned at Finn, who shifted uncomfortably at the sudden attention.  "Don't worry, we still got all your stuff in the basement.  Burt was going to pack it up, but now you're home!  So, um..."  
  
Kurt turned his glare back on Burt.  "You gave him our house?"  
  
Carole stepped back into the room, oblivious of the tension, and took the car keys.  "I'm going to pick up some groceries.  There's a lot of people here to feed.  Not that I mind, of course."  She smiled and lay a hand on Kurt's cheek.  "Everyone's so glad you're back, sweetie."  
  
He pulled away from her before she could even think about kissing him again.  
  
"Can I go?" Finn asked.  
  
Carole's eyes darted between him and Kurt.  "Don't you want to stay and spend time with your friends?"  
  
"Won't you need help with the bags?"  
  
"Well...come on, then.  It's getting late."  
  
"I think he's mad at me," Finn whispered-not soft enough-as they went out the door.  
  
Burt clapped a hand on Kurt's shoulder.  "Let me show you the house.  It's big enough for you to have your own room and everything.  I'd give you the basement if we had one-I know how much you liked your old room."  
  
Mercedes squeezed his hand as he walked.  "Isn't this exciting?  You'll get to decorate."  
  
Kurt pulled away and crossed his arms around his waist, eyeing everything with a baleful eye.  For once in his life, he didn't _want_ to decorate.  He _wanted_ to go home.  
  
And Lima had never been home.  
  
Looking at Kurt, Burt sighed for what felt like the millionth time.  It would take time, he knew that.  He just hoped his patience held out for however long it took.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to edit each chapter before posting. Obviously, that's not working out very well. So it's going to be copy and paste now. Maybe I'll be able to come back to editing later.

Burt pulled the bed out of the couch and the girls piled onto it, Kurt wedged in between Mercedes and Tina. They each held one of his hands. While Puck and Rachel were still in New York due to commitments to Rachel's theater role and Puck's watching over Kurt's things, Mike and Artie were the only guys there (Sam was still MIA). Mike settled in Burt's armchair, while Artie parked up next to the bed on Santana's side.

"You'll be okay here?" Burt asked at the front door where he hovered, reluctant to leave his son even for the few minutes it'd take to gather extra blankets from the old house.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm twenty-three, Dad, not five."

Jesus. Twenty-three. They'd missed so much time together.

Quinn glanced between father and son, then suddenly wormed her way out of the tangled of limbs. "Ill go with you, Mr. Hummel." She turned to Kurt and smiled. "I bet you've still got your movie collection over there. We could watch some of those musicals or something."

Kurt nodded, looking away from her. His hands twitched and tightened in his friends' grasps.

"Let's order a pizza," Artie said. "I dunno about 'bout anyone else but I'm starving."

"Yay, pizza," Brittany cheered, clapping her hands together.

"Anything special you want me to pick up while I'm over there?" Burt asked.

"No," Kurt muttered. He drew his knees up to his chest and, pulling his hands frees, wrapped his arms around them. Burt hesitated at the door, but Quinn put a hand on his arm.

"Come on, Mr. Hummel. I'll think they'll be okay by themselves."

He nodded and stepped out the door.

It was quiet most of the way, until Quinn broke the silence by saying, "I haven't been here in ages. I kind of miss it."

Burt glanced over at her, surprised. "You don't come see your parents?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Not really. You remember what happened in high school, right? You know, the baby?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"It was never the same between us after that. And when I married Ryan-"

"When'd that happen?"

Quinn held up her left hand. A small ring adorned one of the fingers there. "Two years ago. We have a son, Paulie."

"What's he do? This Ryan."

Quinn answered nervously, remembering Kurt's aversion to religion and God. "He's a minister."

Burt only grunted. "He treat you right?"

"Yes. He's very good to me."

"Good."

The house Quinn hadn't seen since she was a teenager came into view. They entered silently, Burt using the spare key attached to his keyring. Inside, the house was nearly bare, with a threadbare couch sitting in front of a small TV and a bookshelf sat nearby, overflowing with movies, CDs, and video games. It all screamed, 'Finn Hudson.' " Quinn smiled to herself fondly at old memories.

"Kurt's room is down there," Burt said, shaking Quinn out of her thoughts.

Downstairs was like stepping into a timewarp. The bedroom was almost exactly how Quinn remembered it. She took a few deep breaths to keep herself from bursting into tears. This was just so unfair. Kurt had never even had a chance to outgrow the things in this room. What if she brought something back and it just reminded him of what he lost? She didn't want to hurt him anyone than he'd already been hurt.

Movies, she reminded herself. Movies were harmless. He probably had these same movies in New York, so surely grabbing a couple off the entertainment center wouldn't do any harm. But what would Kurt like? Catching sight of a certain title, pulled it off the shelf. Perfect.

x

The Sound of Music played on the TV screen as the group huddled under the blankets Burt and Quinn brought back. Kurt ignored them as they talked back and forth, laughing, making jokes, and getting up-to-date on their various lives. He stared at the screen, responding with monosyllabic answers when asked any questions. Mercedes watched, worried, when he winced and pressed a hand against his forehead. It could have been because of the noise, but who knew? He certainly wouldn't tell her.

When her phone let out a tell-tell chime, she gave him an apologetic smile and hurried to the kitchen.

"What's up, Blaine?" she asked, keeping an eye on the living room where Kurt kept glancing over at her. She turned away to face the garage door.

"How is he?"

"Grumpier than one of the seven dwarfs."

Blaine chuckled. "So he's got your hands full, then."

"You better believe it."

"Do you think he'll let me see him?" Blaine asked quietly.

"I really don't know. He's so closed off and unpredictable right now. I have no idea what's going through his mind."

"Mercedes?" Kurt's soft voice came from the entryway. "Who are you talking to?"

"Is that-"

Mercedes cut Blaine off. "You remember I told you about Ted?"

"Yeah..."

"He just wanted to check in with me, see how you were doing." She and Ted had talked earlier. Well, it was mostly Mercedes sniffling into the phone and Ted trying to comfort her.

"Are you coming back?"

Mercedes smiled at her friend. "Of course, I am. Give me a minute to say goodbye, okay?"

"Okay." Kurt gave her a last, lingering frown before turning around and walking back to the living room.

"I should go," Mercedes said back into the phone. "Kurt's really fragile right now. I'll call you if anything changes."

"Thanks." Blaine sounded so defeated. Mercedes wished he were closer so she could pull him into a hug.

Back in the living room, she crawled into the space Kurt had left open for her. They linked arms like old times and settled in to watch Julie Andrews spin on a hilltop.

x

Kurt rolled away from where he'd curled up against Mercedes's warm back, grunting at the pain that flared in his chest, and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't fall back asleep. This house was too dark and too quiet.

And he missed Dave. A big chunk of his heart was missing, and he couldn't even talk to anyone, not even Mercedes, about it. They'd think he was mad, crazy. They'd send him away. To his friends and family, Dave Karofsky was a soulless monster, but they didn't know him like Kurt did.

They didn't see how, when Kurt got sick that first year at the apartment, Dave bathed him, dressed him, made sure he didn't accidentally starve to death. Kurt was only drifting then, the world breaking in and out of focus around him. After he left a pot too long on the stove once and almost burned the kitchen down, Dave had no choice but to lock him in the bedroom when he went to work until he got better. It was to keep him safe. By the end of the year, Kurt was mostly over...whatever it was...that had taken hold of him.

Dave had _helped_ him.

Now all semblance of control had been taken from him, and he could feel himself start to crack around the edges. Everybody would see how sick he was.

Well, screw them for taking Dave away. And why was it so dark?

Kurt flipped back the covers and sat up, his feet dangling over the side of the mattress near Finn's head. Mercedes stirred beside him. He waited until she'd settled, then set his feet on the floor where Finn lay on his back with his mouth hanging open as he snored.

He raised then pulled back his foot as he stared at his step-brother, his mind racing. Finn had once again managed to steal his father away. He got Kurt's father, his home, and, apparently, his share of the auto shop. Kurt's foot wavered as he battled the anger surging through him. It took all of his willpower to move away. He couldn't kick Finn. His father would be angry with him.

It was too dark. Too dark, too dark, too dark. Kurt's head jerked, unnoticed, as he wandered over to the garage door. Burt would be most likely to keep the bigger heavy-duty flashlights out there. He flipped on the light switch by the door, hoping no one would notice, then grasped the knob with sweaty fingers.

The light from the kitchen spilled out into the garage, revealing a wall lined with tools. Kurt's heart stuttered at the two vehicles sheltered there. His Navigator-

- _rolled to a stop as he pulled onto the side of the road just before the engine died. Which was really weird. Both Kurt and his dad had just went over his car last weekend. School was starting and Burt wanted to make sure he'd be safe on the rides to and from school. He was obsessive about that, somehow fearing it would explode if it didn't get checked way more than it should._

_Eyeing the sinking sun, Kurt stepped out of the car and hurried to pop the hood. The road he'd taken to get back home for the weekend was surrounded by thick clumps of trees. Every time a branch cracked, he jumped, then cursed himself for being stupid. He took this road every week. It's not like it was known for harboring dangerous criminals or something._

_But...this couldn't be right. Kurt stared at the engine, bewildered. Was this deliberate?_

_Behind him, a twig snapped sharply, then, "Hummel-_

_-I take it you're having trouble at school."_

Kurt turned and fled, stumbling over his own feet as he ran back inside.


	15. Chapter 15

_Dave's hands were gentle as he ran a washcloth down Kurt's back in soothing circles, and the water was warm. Kurt ran his hands through it absently, barely aware of his head getting tilted back and of shampoo being applied to his grown out locks of hair. Everything was hazy and so, so distant. He didn't remember what he was doing there anymore._

When Carole cracked her eyes open the next morning, the bedside clock read 7:45. She groaned and would have burrowed back under covers had their not been so many guests to care for. Instead, she crawled out of bed, pulled a robe on over her nightgown, and made her way to the living room.

Her eyes went straight to Kurt, who was a near indistinct lump under the covers next to Mercedes. His hair peeked out over the top of the blankets and she used that guidepoint to tug the soft material down and plant a kiss on his forehead. His eyes popped open like he'd never been asleep and he stared at her, an ever-present frown on his face.

"Good morning," she whispered. "I'm going to start breakfast. You want anything special?"

"I'm not hungry." He curled himself closer to Mercedes, hiding his face.

Carole frowned. There were plates all around the living room. The only one that had more than a half-eaten piece of pizza left on it was Kurt's. All four of the ones she'd seen Mercedes pile on his plate were still there, untouched. She shook her head, reminding herself to talk to Burt about it when he came down for breakfast.

The kids began to move around while Carole was flipping a large back of pancakes. She could hear Artie, Mike, and Tina saying their goodbyes while she stacked the food onto a large plate. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Kurt clinging to Mercedes's arm as the trio hovered over him. He sat there placidly while they wrapped him up in their arms and, tears falling, gave him last parting kisses.

Finn stumbled into the room, blocking her view, and wrinkled his nose.

"Why don't we just eat the rest of the pizza?" Finn asked. "You wrapped it up last night, right?"

Carole shook her head as she started to set the table. "There's not enough to go around now. I swear, you eat like you're still a teenager."

Finn frowned at her. "What are you talking about? There's two platefuls in the fridge."

"Well, there's only one left. See for yourself."

He opened the door and stared at the lighted interior with his mouth hanging open. "Huh. So there's, what, ten slices left?"

"You're not having cold pizza for breakfast. I'm almost done setting the table. I take it we lost three guests."

"But-"

"Finn. Sit." She pointed at the kitchen table. Finn took a seat, grumbling under his breath. "Guys," she called into the living room. "Breakfast is ready."

Burt and Mercedes appeared a few moments later, steering a reluctant Kurt between them. Burt sat him down in one of the chairs. Carole served him first, forking pancakes onto his plate and stacking them high. He eyed them distastefully.

"You're going to eat that," Burt ordered. So he'd noticed, too, then.

"Where's everyone else?" Finn asked, peering into the living room.

"Quinn's in the shower," Mercedes said. "Brittany and Santana are still asleep. I swear Santana's a raging bitch in the morning."

Kurt sat for over an hour picking at his food and was still sitting there long after the others had left the table. Burt watched him, a stern expression on his face the only thing keeping Kurt eating at all. By the time he got to the last bit of pancake, Carole began to feel worried. Kurt really didn't look well.

"Can I go back to bed now?" he asked Burt, tossing his fork down with a pout on his face.

"Sure." Burt put a hand on his son's forehead, ignoring how he flinched away from the touch. "Get you some rest. Maybe a nap will help you feel better."

Kurt grimaced and stood, shuffling back to the living room where he collapsed on the pull-out bed with a groan. He suddenly sat up, then hurried down the hallway and into the bathroom. The sound of retching was just audible behind the closed door.

Carole winced.

"Is Kurt sick?" Brittany asked.

Santana put a hand on her arm and shook her head.

"I'll go check on him." Mercedes gave them a small smile.

"I called a doctor," Burt said to Carole. "She'll be coming over tomorrow to talk to Kurt."

"That's good. You think he'll do more than glare this time?"

"I hope he'll at least say something to her."

Carole sat beside him on the couch (now folded back in) and pulled him to her. They sat together in silence until Mercedes came back with a troubled look on her face.

"I can't get him to come out," she said.

"Not this again." Burt sighed and heaved himself out of his chair.

"What does that mean?" Quinn asked.

"It doesn't matter." Burt brushed past Mercedes and headed for the bathroom door, where he knocked firmly on the door. "Kurt, open up."

"We need to bust the door down?" Santana asked.

"Please don't hurt the house," Finn said. "They just bought it."

Beside him, Mercedes fidgeted nervously. "Um...Mr. Hummel? Is there anything, you know, sharp in there?"

Burt looked at her, alarmed. Carole's pulse quickened at the thought of not just Burt's razor sitting on the sink but of her own resting on the side of the tub. "Oh, god, Burt. Open the door."

"Get the house keys from the kitchen," he said. "The bathroom's should be on it."

Carole rushed off to fished the keys out of the junk drawer, her hands shaking as she closed her fist around them. Coming back to the hallway, she handed them over to Burt with a silent, pleading look.

He shoved the key into the lock, turned the knob, and threw open the door. Carole closed her eyes and breathed in deep, scared of what waited inside.

It was Burt's soft, "Kurt," that gave her the courage to open them again.

Kurt sat on top of the toilet seat with his knees drawn up and chewed at his fingernails. A thin sliver of blood ran from the finger currently in his mouth. His eyes were fixed on the closet door opposite the toilet.

Burt knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his knee, the other prying his bleeding finger from between his teeth. Kurt's eyes flickered briefly towards him. It wasn't an acknowledgment, not really. That small movement shouldn't have made Carole feel so relieved.

At least Kurt was alive. Much worse could've happened behind this door.

_He was still warm from the bath and sated from sex as Dave led him back, letting him sink into the niche in the wall that was his own. A packet of crackers and a small bottle of water was placed beside him. The water had stopped tasting so funny a while ago. Maybe never really had to begin with._

_Dave kissed him softly, then shut the door. Kurt ripped open the packet of crackers and absently-mindedly shoved them in his mouth. When they were gone, he let the empty wrapper fall to the floor and waited, waited, waited._

_A small pop, a flicker of light, and he was plunged into darkness. Pulling his knees closer to his chest, Kurt dropped his head and cried._

x

"Okay, I got this," Mercedes said, pushing her way past a hovering Finn and Mrs. Hummel. "Mr. Hummel, can you get Kurt's bags and bring them here?"

As the older man left the room, Mercedes grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and pulled him up to stand in front of her. The confused look on his face would have been adorable if it weren't so tragic.

"Is that my mom's toothbrush?" Finn edged closer to them.

Kurt's fingers were wrapped around a dark purple toothbrush, paste threatening to slide off the bristles. He must have been about to brush his teeth-with someone else's toothbrush, gross-when his mind shut down. She pried it gently out of his hands and set it on the counter.

"Let's get you cleaned up. Finn, I'll need your help."

"Uhhh...with what? 'Cause I don't really know anything about clothes and stuff."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "I assume you know more about shaving than I do." She ran her hands along Kurt's jawline, the rough feel of stubble beneath her fingertips. He blinked at her.

Finn started. "Oh, right."

While he rummaged through the cabinet for supplies, Mercedes wrapped the tip of Kurt's finger up in a Band-aid. Burt came back in with a couple of duffel bags as Finn was running a razor over Kurt's face. He watched them silently for a moment, then walked right back out, head bent and shoulders slumped.

"Okay, clothes," Mercedes said after they'd wiped all the shaving cream off his now clean-shaven face. She glanced over at Finn, irritated, when he stood there shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Boy, don't start that crap now. Get over here and help me."

"Right..." Finn picked up the little pile of clothes Burt had left behind on the toilet seat and joined Mercedes at Kurt's side. Together, they shuffled him out of his pajamas and into a pair of slacks and a long sleeved t-shirt that covered up the scars on his arms.

It went more smoothly than Mercedes thought it would. Kurt just went along with everything, moving his arms and legs as directed. Mercedes shooed Finn away when they were done, then turned to smile at Kurt.

"You'll feel better if we fix your hair. I think Puck brought your whole collection of hair products, so there's bound to be something in there we can use."

It was almost like the sleepovers the two of them used to have, except it'd have been him giving her a manicure and doling out skin care advice. And there would have been a lot more giggling going on. All this silence was a bit unnerving.

"There," she said when she'd finished with not just his hair but also the moisturizing routine she remembered he used in high school. He lifted up his hands to study his nails. When he'd stared at them a bit too long, Mercedes grabbed his hand and went to pull him out of the bathroom. He balked at the door, but with an encouraging tug followed her into the living room where everyone else waited.

She hated the way Burt's face fell at the bewildered expression Kurt wore as they entered the room.

"Come sit down, honey," Carole said. She patted the cushions of the couch. The mattress had been folded back while they were gone.

Brittany and Santana jumped up from their spot so that Mercedes could sit next to Kurt where Carole had indicated. He rested his head on her shoulder when they sat back against the cushions.

"So," Mercedes said with false cheer, "who's up for another movie?"

They settled on another round of The Sound of Music. It was depressing, though, the way everyone just sat around and stared at the screen blankly. Mercedes heart nearly stopped when Kurt suddenly sat up in the middle of the movie and looked around him. He still looked confused, but not in that disturbing way he had earlier.

"Kurt," Mercedes said hopefully.

He looked over at her and drew his chin up haughtily. "Mercedes."

Burt rose half out of his chair. "Kurt, you all right?"

Kurt turned to face his father. "I'm fine, Dad." His tone was smooth and controlled but they could all see the uneasiness he tried to keep from flickering across his face.

"Then what the hell was that?"

"It was nothing. I told you, I'm fine." One of Kurt's hands clenched and unclenched on against the couch。

Burt let out a breath and eased back into his seat. "A doctor's coming tomorrow. She can help, but you've gotta let her in."

Kurt stared down at his lap, brow furrowed, then leaned back against Mercedes shoulder. She bent down to kiss the top of his product filled head and patted his knee. Kurt's miserable sniff was barely audible over the TV.


	16. Chapter 16

Dr. Eliza Carter was an older woman with a kind, practiced smile that made all of Kurt's defensive walls rise up the moment he and his dad sat on the couch for the first session. It was just an initial meeting, Burt claimed, but Kurt could already feel her eyes assessing his every movement. He tried to keep his hands still, not let them roam around as they were liable to do.

"How are you today, Kurt?" Dr. Carter asked. People said his name a lot nowadays when talking to him, like that was supposed to make him feel better about their prying. It didn't. Not at all.

"I'm fine." _Fine, fine, fine._ He was just fine.

Burt grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly. It was a warning. _Be good._

"Don't worry." Dr. Carter smiled at Kurt. "I'm not going to make you talk about stuff you're not ready to yet. This is just a...getting to know you type thing."

"Where's Mercedes?" Kurt turned to his father, an irrational shot of fear fluttering around his stomach at the thought of her being gone.

"She went out. Said she'd be back later," Burt said.

"You're very attached to Mercedes," Dr. Carter noted.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

"You haven't seen her in five years."

"It's Mercedes."

"You don't feel that way about your other friends from school? Finn, Artie? Any of the other girls?"

He yanked his hand free from Burt's grip and knotted it in the hem of his shirt. "I don't know. It's been five years."

Dr. Carter wrote something on the notepad balanced on her lap, which was just stupid. She had a tape recorder sitting on the coffee table to record his every word.

The doctor noticed his eyes dart to it and gave him another one of those placating smiles. "I hear you used to sing," she said in an abrupt change of subject. "Have you kept it up?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Something flashed across his vision, a memory _that didn't happen_ quickly shoved aside, and he winced, his hand flying to his head.

"Are you okay?" Burt asked. He put a hand on his son's back, causing Kurt to cringe away from the creepy-crawly touch.

"I'm fine, Dad." Although there was a headache spiking behind his right eye.

Dr. Carter tapped pencil against that damned notepad. "You say that a lot."

"Because _I'm fine-"_

Her hand waved in front of his face and he drew back, startled at how suddenly she had appeared before him. Her notepad lay abandoned on the floor beside the chair she'd been sitting in. Watching him closely, she leaned back on her heels.

"There you are. Does that happen a lot?"

"No." His dad's eyes bore into the side of his head. "It doesn't!"

She stood and bent to pick up the notepad before returning to her chair. "Now, where were we? Do you remember what we were talking about?"

"Mercedes," he spat. "We were talking about Mercedes." That was what they'd been talking about, right? He tried not to squirm under the intense gazes of both his father and Dr. Carter.

"Do you ever lose time, Kurt? Wake up somewhere and not remember how you got there or what you were doing?"

"No." He was fine now. He was.

Everything was perfectly fine.

x

Blaine heaved himself off the hotel room bed and stumbled to the door as someone knocked once, twice, and there wasn't a third time. He flung it open to stop the awful pounding.

"God," Mercedes scoffed, "have you been up drinking all night?"

"Not all night," Blaine slurred. "Just last night...and this morning."

Mercedes held up a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Drink this, then take a shower. Sober yourself up."

"What, why?"

"You really think I'm going to let Kurt see you like this. Nuh-uh, buddy."

Blaine's face lit up. "He asked to see me?"

Her eyes shifted away. "No...but he's not all doped up like he was before. It might be good for him if he saw you again."

When he grinned at her drunkenly, she rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the small bathroom. After he'd showered and gotten as sober as Mercedes could get him, she pushed him towards the door, praying that this wouldn't be a huge mistake.

She found Kurt crouched by the side of his bed, head just visible over the mattress from where he knelt on the floor.

Mercedes cleared her throat. "Kurt."

He shot up and stood there, staring at her with an intensity that made her uneasy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice on edge. His hands twitched at his side.

Curious, Mercedes sidled over to him. There were a few crumbs of food scattered around his feet and the bedsheet looked like it had been shoved hastily back into place.

"Oh." Mercedes grinned at him. "Has Finn been sneaking you magazines again?"

During their junior year, before Kurt disappeared, Finn had brought home magazines he later swore to Mrs. Hummel he'd bought in an attempt for the two brothers to 'bond' over. One for him and a totally different type for Kurt. Carole, unamused, grounded him and tried to ban magazines from the house. Which nearly resulted in WWIII as Kurt refused to live without his Vogue subscription.

Kurt's voice was soft yet sharp when it rolled off his tongue to say a simple, "Yes." He still had that look on his face that screamed 'I'm holding back on you' to anyone who really knew him. It was kinda nice to see that some things about him hadn't changed, even if it did maker her want to shake him silly sometimes.

Deciding not to pry, for now, Mercedes let it go in favor of more important things. "Okay," she said, "don't freak out, but I brought someone with me."

His eyes narrowed at her. "Who?"

She opened her mouth to answer bur the door creaked open before she could answer.

"Hi, Kurt," Blaine said.

Glancing nervously between them, Mercedes backed towards the door. "I'll let you two talk."

In the stillness of her absence, Kurt and Blaine stared at each other.

_Dave sat on the bed before him with head bowed and shoulders shaking-_

"You look good," Blaine said.

It was true. Kurt hadn't changed much the past few years, his features simply matured and sharpened from what they were. His skin was still pale porcelain and his eyes piercing, even surrounded by faded bruises. The blue sweater he wore over a buttoned down shirt only brought out the intense blues of those eyes so that they appeared to be shining.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked, interrupting Blaine's appreciating gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said abruptly. "I know you don't want to see me."

Kurt lifted his chin a bit, swiping a finger across his bangs in a painfully familiar gesture. "I _might_ have been a bit hasty before."

Blaine let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Good. Good, I-" He stared at the man in front of him. "Can I-can I hug you? I mean, you don't have to..."

Kurt inched towards him. They fit together as well as Blaine remembered, though Kurt's touch was hesitant and his back stiff where Blaine rested his hands. He leaned his head on Kurt's shoulder, the familiar smell of cologne and hair product filling his nose with each breath he took in.

"God, I've missed you."

The soft lips against his neck almost went unnoticed had Kurt not chosen that moment to breathe hotly against his skin, making him shiver. They shouldn't be doing this. Kurt was ill. Unstable. He opened his mouth to stop this, only to have Kurt press their lips together and quickly slip his tongue into Blaine's mouth.

The next few moments were spent on sloppy kisses and grasping hands, Kurt's cold hands sliding up under Blaine's shirt, as they slowly back towards the bed, until Kurt's knees hit the mattress and he fell backwards with a pained yelp. Blaine drew away.

"I'm sorry! Are you all right?" He'd completely forgotten to be careful of Kurt's injury.

_-Kurt reached out for him, despite the ache in his back and the sting of his arm-_

Kurt grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him back down. _"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered. "I know-"_ "-you didn't mean to."

Blaine dived back down and latched onto Kurt's neck. Kurt groaned, twisted a hand into the back of Blaine's t-shirt, and slowly began to slide his foot up the body hovering over him. He gasped out a name, causing Blaine to scramble off the bed and out of reach. Kurt stared at him, irritated and left wanting.

"I'm sorry. We shouldn't be doing this."

Kurt flopped back onto the mattress. "Whatever," he muttered. He turned away and curled in on himself.

"Kurt-"

"I didn't want you here anyway."

Blaine tilted his head back as he felt tears begin to build behind his eyes. "Okay. Okay, Kurt."

Turning towards the door, Blaine left Kurt on the bed, his arms covering his face from view.

x

Mercedes took one look at Blaine's face as he came out of the room and poked her head inside to see Kurt sprawled out on his side, face pressed into the crook of his elbow in a futile attempt to smother the sound of his crying.

She watched him for a moment, then turned around and marched into the kitchen where Blaine was pacing back and forth. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Blaine said. "We were kissing and-"

"Excuse me? Did I say anything about kissing? You were supposed to just _talk_ to him!"

"I know!"

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"He said Karofsky's name."

Mercedes's face softened. "Oh, Blaine."

"I shouldn't have come here. I should have left him alone like he wanted me to."

"This is my fault." Mercedes held up a hand when he tried to protest. "I'm the one who thought he was ready." She sighed. "Let's get you back to the hotel."

"God," Blaine said. "It's been five years. You'd think after all this time it wouldn't hurt so much."

"You never really did get over him."

"Yeah..."

The kitchen door opened and Finn stared at them. "Uh, what's going on? Is Kurt crying? I'd go in there and check, but he might throw something at me." He caught sight of Blaine and frowned. "What's he doing here?"

"Nothing." Mercedes grabbed Blaine's arm. "I'm taking him back to his hotel room now."

"But what about Kurt?"

"What do you expect me to do, Finn?"

"I don't know, like, go hug him or something."

"I've hugged him enough to last a lifetime. I wish it'd be enough to make him feel better, but it's not and right now, Blaine needs me." She pushed Blaine towards the door. "If he asks about me, tell him I'll be back real soon."

Finn shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards Kurt's bedroom. "Yeah. Okay."

x

Back in Kurt's room, Brittany sat beside him on the bed while Santana hovered in the doorway.

"Do you want some chocolate?" Brittany asked. "I always eat chocolate when I get upset."

"No, thank you." Kurt's voice was muffled against his arm.

"I could sing to you."

Kurt lifted his face just enough to look at her from the corner of his red, teary eyes. "I'm sorry, Britt, but could you leave me alone? Please?"

Brittany glanced at Santana. "But...I wanted to make you feel better."

Kurt's lips trembled. "Please," he whispered.

Santana strode forward and gently pulled Brittany up. "Feel better," she said to Kurt, no hint of the sarcastic girl he once knew in her voice. As they walked out the door, she rubbed her hand against Brittany's back and made quiet shushing noises over her friend's sniffling.

x

Carole was reaching for the towels in the cabinet when Finn knocked on her door.

"Just a second," she called.

"What?"

"I said-"

The door opened and she whipped a towel blindly off the shelf with a scream, echoed by Finn as he slapped his hands over his eyes and turned away.

"Oh my god, _Mom."_

Carole let out a second startled scream when an assortment of items flew off the shelf along with the towel she now hastily wrapped around herself.

"Mom?" Finn turned around, hands still over his eyes.

"I'm okay." Carole stared at the floor, brow wrinkled as she took in the items scattered across the floor. There was an assortment of plastic wrappers from a crumpled snack cake box next to her foot. The plate she remembered piling at least fifteen slices of pizza on lay in two pieces, chips of glass dotting the tiles. And one of the small, plastic fruit bowls rolled to a stop near the doorway. If she lifted her eyes high enough, she could see the box it'd come in shoved to the back of the shelf.

Finn slowly lowered his hands and, after squinting one eye open to make sure the view was safe, took in the mess. "Who's been eating in the bathroom?" His mom would have killed him if he'd tried to eat and bathe at the same time, though it did sound kinda cool.

Carole took a deep breath. She had her suspicions, ones that Finn didn't need to hear. "Honey, would you mind cleaning this up? I need to get dressed and call Burt to see what time he'll be home."

"Sure, Mom."

After putting on a robe, Carole headed to her and Burt's room, she peeked her head into Kurt's room. He didn't move when she stepped insde, though she wasn't sure if he was asleep or not. She opened his closet door, accidently nudging over a nearby flashlight with her toe, and grabbed one of the blankets sitting in the shelf above the hanging rack.

She threw it over Kurt and tucked the edges around his body, then turned out the light.


	17. Chapter 17

Kurt's arms were trapped at his side and he flailed widly in the dark, panic rising up as he cried out in terror. Fingers tightened on his shoulders and someone shook him.

"Kurt! Wake up!"

_-hands grabbed him, pushed and pulled at him, at his clothes-_

"No!" He kicked out, hitting his captor in the legs, his thighs. The fingers on him tightened. The person looming over him, huge and hulking, spoke again, but he couldn't understand what they were saying overe his own screams. "Let me go, let me go! Let me _out._ "

He managed to pull an arm free and struck out with clawed fingers, tearing flesh with his nails. With the weight off, he scrambled free as best he could, rolling away only to fall onto a plush, carpeted floor. The light flicked on and he squinted up to see Carole by the door and his father striding towards him. Finn stood by the bed, a hand clasped to his cheek. Blood trickled out from between his fingers. Kurt looked down at his hands to see blood under his nails.

"Kurt?" Burt knelt in front of his him and carefully lay his hands on his shoulders.

Kurt threw himself forward and let himself be enveloped by the strong arms reaching around him. He couldn't stop shaking. His whole body shuddered in his father's embrace. He couldn't remember what the dream was about. He didn't want to remember.

Burt tightened his hold so that he could pull them both to their feet. Kurt, wild-eyed, stayed clutched to his side as they made their way to the living room couch. Burt sat them down and tugged the afgan off the back of the couch to throw over them. He picked up the remote from the end table and clicked on the TV. It was only the news but Kurt found himself staring at the TV, letting the sounds and flickering movements roll over him.

x

After Burt and Kurt were gone from the room, Carole hurried to her own son.

"Let me see," she said, pulling his hand away from his face to reveal three long scratches running down his face, blood smeared along his cheek from where it had welled from the cuts. She absent-mindedly brushed off something hard and crusty that was stuck to the bottom of her foot, not bothering to check what it was. She had more important things to worry about right now.

She steered Finn into the bathroom and dug out the first-aid kit.

"He hates me," Finn said, hissing when she dabbed some antibiotic ointment over the wound.

Carole paused to take his face in her hands. "No, honey, he's just really confused right now."

"Have you seen how he _looks_ at me?"

"Give it time." She took out some large band-aids. Luckily, the scratches were short enough that two covered the spot easily and they weren't too deep. It wouldn't even scar.

"Rachel says I should sing to him to express my...um...'deepest regrets' over the stuff that's happened."

Carole chuckled. "I don't think singing's going to win you many points in this situation. Just...be yourself. He'll come around when he's ready."

He had a feeling being himself was the very thing that was making Kurt so angry with him in the first place.

x

Of course, Dr. Carter wanted to _talk_ about it. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her when she started asking him about the nightmare that had overtaken him last night.

"I don't remember," he said, wishing she'd go away and let him go to bed. His skin was already looking terrible from the stress of recent events. He really didn't want to add the affects of sleep deprivation to it.

The doctor stared at him, tapping her pen against her notepad. "You don't remember or you don't want to remember?"

Kurt gaped at her. "Who would want to?"

"Ah. So you do remember."

He huffed and looked away. He really didn't remember. Something about...hands. An ache started to build behind his eyes and he ground the palms of his hand against his forehead.

"Are you all right?" Dr. Carter asked.

Before Kurt could bite out a snappy retort, the door opened and Mercedes came inside, freezing when she saw the two of them.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I'll-"

"Mercedes!" Kurt leaped from the couch and propelled himself across the room towards his friends. His headache was still there, but he could ignore it now that she was here. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the couch with him.

"Should I really be here?" Mercedes whispered.

"I don't care."

"Actually," Dr. Carter said, "I've been hoping to talk with you, Miss Jones."

Kurt groaned. They were not doing this. Not now. "Where were you last night?" he asked, ignoring his doctor.

Mercedes hesitated. "I was with Blaine. He was a little upset about what happened."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "He was the one who left."

"Yeah, but you said-"

"Kurt." Dr. Carter leaned forward, trying to get his attention.

"I didn't say anything."

"Kurt."

"You mean...you don't remember?"

" _Kurt-_ "

"What?" Kurt snapped.

"Huh?" Finn looked up at him from where he and Puck sat on the living room floor playing a video game on the big screen TV. The windows were dark and both Dr. Carter and Mercedes were gone. Kurt held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a paper towel in the other. Had he been wearing these shoes all day?

"What's up?" Puck (who shouldn't even be in Lima) asked, pausing the game when Kurt was silent too long.

"Nothing." Kurt quickly closed his fist around the paper towel to hide the chunks of food he'd hidden inside. Not half-eaten, then. He'd dispose of it later. "What are you guys doing here?" How long had they been there?

Puck and Finn exchanged a glance that made Kurt's jaw tighten in anger. There was nothing _wrong_ with him.

"We brought your stuff," Finn said uneasily.

Oh, god. He didn't know what day it was. How much time had passed? He hadn't just been sitting there, had he? No. There would've been a bigger reaction from the other guys when he first spoke if he had been.

"Right." He nodded firmly, trying to project some confidence into his faltering expression. "Um, where's Mercedes?"

There was that pause again. "She and Rachel are sleeping in your room tonight, remember?" Finn sat down his game controller and stood when Burt opened the front door, struggling to pull something inside. "Let me help with that."

While Burt's back was still turned, Kurt quickly stuffed the food in his hands in between two cushions.

Together, he and Finn pulled in an old dresser that Kurt stared at with wide eyes.

"There," Burt said, turning to Kurt with a grin. "Kurt, you remember this, right?"

"Yeah..." It was his mother's.

"Thought I'd bring it over. I know how much it means to you. Finn! Let's get this thing into Kurt's room."

Finn glanced in the direction of Kurt's room. "But I think the girls are asleep."

"Oh." Burt's shoulders slumped.

"You can leave it here if you want, Mr. Hummel" Puck said. "Finn and I can move it in the morning."

"Yeah, okay." Burt crossed the room to plant a firm kiss on his son's forehead. "Why don't you guys get some sleep? There's a lot of stuff in that truck, we'll need to strart early. You, too, Kurt. We'll pull the bed out of the couch for you."

Kurt glanced at the door where the other two were pulling on their coats and getting ready to leave. "They're not staying?"

"Nah. Gonna stay at the old house."

Kurt frowned down at his knees. Of course Finn would stay at the old house. _His_ house, the one he grew up in before...before...

"Hey." Burt took hold of Kurt's chin and gently tilted his face up. "Don't think I wouldn't have done the same for you, if you'd been here and wanted it."

"I'm here now, Dad," Kurt murmured, eyes searching his father's face for something-for the love, the acceptance, he'd gotten so many years ago.

Burt sighed, sinking down next to him, then reached over and gathered Kurt in his arms. "I wish I could take away everything that's happened the past few years. But I can't and it kills me."

Kurt stiffened in his arms and pushed himself away. "It's late. I should get to bed."

Burt reached for the cushions so they could pull out the bed.

"No!" Kurt grabbed his wrist. "I-I'll get it. Carole's probably waiting for you."

"Okay...well, good night." Burt gave the couch a long look before turning around and leaving the room.

Kurt sighed and collapsed onto the armchair. All the lights in the house were off except a nearby lamp, kept on to ward off nightmares. Kurt stared at his mom's dresser. The old, polished wood practically glowed in the soft light. He was drawn to it as if mesmorized and it crept closer- _he_ crept closer-until the bottom drawer stood open and a faint floral scent drifted around the small space he knelt on.

If he closed his eyes, it was like his mom was there. She'd wrap her arms around him and make all the bad monsters go away, and she'd say-

_"I told you, didn't I?"_

Kurt slammed the drawer closed and scrambled away. Everything was tainted now. Everything. Everything. Everything.

x

Rachel and Mercedes were fast asleep in Kurt's bed when he inched into the room. Mercedes was curled up on her side while Rachel lay sprawled on her back next to her, snoring louder than Finn would. Kurt crawled onto the bed and wedged himself into the space between them. Mercedes turned sleepily and smiled at him.

"Hey, there."

"Hi." Kurt flashed her a brief, awkward smile of his own and wormed his way under the covers.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No. Is this okay?"

"Of course it is." Mercedes paused, searching for words. "Kurt? You know I have to go soon, right?"

"You're leaving me?" Brittany, Santana and Quinn had left sometime while he was...gone. He could handle that. But, Mercedes?

"Baby, I dropped classes to be here for you, but I can't stay forever."

"It's okay," Rachel said from behind him, her hands snaking around his waist as she rolled over to face his back. "We might have to go, but you won't be alone."

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat and reached over to grip her hand in his own.

"Hey. Do you remember?" Rachel giggled, then began to sing. " 'Happy days...are here again...' "

"That's not how it starts," Kurt whispered.

"Will you?" She whispered back.

Kurt opened his mouth, but it took a moment for the notes to come out. " 'Forget your troubles...' "

" '...happy days...' "

" '...c'mon, get happy...' "

" '...are here again...' "

After leaving his voice so long unused, he'd lost a lot of power and range, but he could just barely hit the high notes for this, even if he did sound weak and trembly. When the last note died, Mercedes ran her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the tears that leaked out.

"Hey, Kurt?" Rachel said. "Do you have ants in this house?"

"What?" Kurt craned his head around to look at her.

"Way to kill a moment," Mercedes said.

Rachel suddenly leaped from the bed with a cry. Kurt could hear her beating at her long, flannel (ugh, flannel) nightgown. Mercedes flicked on the bedside lamp to see what all the fuss was about.

x

"Sorry about the ants," Kurt said as they huddled together on the pullout bed.

"It's okay," Rachel said. "You couldn't have known this house was infested by a horde of army ants. At least it won't affect my singing voice."

"Uh, you okay?" Mercedes asked her. "Your eyes look a little crazy right now."

Rachel clutched the blanket tighter to her chin. 'I'm fine."

"Isn't that my line?" Kurt asked.

They stared at each other a moment, then broke out in giggles.

"Okay," Burt said, coming from Kurt's room. "I found the problem."

"They were drawn to my natural talent and charisma?" Rachel asked.

Burt scratched at his bare head. "Uh, probably not?" Kurt slunk further under the covers when his dad's eyes looked him over. "I think it's 'cause of the food that got left out in there."

"I thought I smelled something funny," Mercedes said. "I just didn't want to say anything."

"You kids go back to sleep. We'll take care of it in the morning."

When Burt walked past the back of the couch on the way back to his own room, he squeezed Kurt's shoulder, then ruffled his hair in a fond gesture. Kurt wanted to just die from shame. God, it was all coming out, wasn't it?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read that people with mental illnesses have been known to up and disappear, getting quite far before found, which is what inspired the airport bit with Kurt.

"C'mere," Burt said as soon as Kurt stepped out of the bathroom that morning.

Kurt glanced at the little window where he could see a van backing up the driveway, then followed his father into the kitchen. Carole was waiting for them, a bundle of papers stacked underneath her folded hands.

"Sit." Burt pulled out a chair and waited for Kurt to sit down before joining them at the table. "Carole found the stuff in the bathroom closet."

Kurt could feel his face heat up under at their combined stares. He wrung his hands together and waited.

"And then there's all that food under your mattress," Burt continued.

"Bulimia is a very serious thing, Kurt," Carole said. She looked down at the papers in front of her, shuffling through them, which Kurt was mortified to see were all about eating disorders. "It could kill you."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm not bulimic, Carole." It's not like he was making himself throw up or anything.

Burt's face tightened. "Let me see your hands."

"What?" Kurt asked, confused.

"C'mon, kiddo. Hands."

Reluctantly, Kurt pried his hands apart and held them out. Burt took the left one and Carole the right. Burt made a sound in his throat and angled the one he held in Carole's direction, revealing light scarring across the knuckles, barely even noticeable unless one knew to look. Kurt hadn't done it much, it'd only been at first and then he'd stopped. The side effects were horrible. He quickly pulled his hands away.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Carole asked.

_'Because you'll think I'm crazy and send me away,'_ Kurt's brain answered. Out loud, he simply murmured, "Dave knew," and could have kicked himself for answering. It's not like they understood.

"You need to talk to us," Burt said, rubbing a hand wearily across his forehead. "Or at least Dr. Carter. Tell us what's going on."

_'I'm sick, Dad. So sick.'_ But he wasn't. Not really. He was fine.

Kurt folded his arms and stared sullenly at the floor. "Is that it?"

"No," Carole said. She went to lay a hand on his arm, but stopped herself when he angled his body away from her. "We need to know if there's anything else you're not telling us?"

"Like what?"

"It's just that you've been acting a bit...off...these past few days."

A laugh escaped, wild and jarring, before Kurt could stop it. "I...I can't rrr-" The words got stuck in his throat. No matter how he worked his mouth, nothing else would come out except the stuttering start of 'I can't remember'.

He was jerked out of his efforts to speak by a loud thump as Finn opened the door and hit the bundle in his arms on the doorframe. Kurt's jaw dropped when he saw what he was carrying. "Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" Finn paused from his ineffective efforts of getting the pink-clad mannequin the wrong way through the door. "Oh," he said, noticing Kurt eyeing the dummy. "We put this in last, so..."

Kurt strode to the front door and pointed angrily at the fabric trailing over the ground. A smudge of dirt stained a spot just under the bodice where Finn had hit the doorway. "You're getting it all dirty!"

"Oh!" Finn scrambled to lift up the skirt, only to hit the torso against the door. "Sorry."

It was like watching a really bad movie, the ones in which bumbling idiots starred. Kurt's anger rose the longer he watched Finn struggle.

"Do you know how hard I worked on that?" Dave had spent so much money on fabric and the sewing machine alone had nearly cost him a whole paycheck. It had been a gift, after Kurt had tried to-no, not now.

"It can be fixed," Finn said, panic creeping into his voice. "It's not that bad."

Burt and Carole were slowly making their way into the living room. Kurt's whole body trembled with rage so intense it actually made him feel sick.

It figured. It fucking figured.

"Why do you have to ruin _everything?"_ he yelled.

Finn flinched away at the venom in his voice.

"Kurt," Burt scolded. Beside him, Carole looked torn between who to run to, Kurt or Finn?

Kurt rounded on his father. He was crying again, for what seemed like the zillionth time. "Yeah, stick up for Finn. He's the son you always wanted anyway."

"Kurt, calm down," Carole said, raising her hands towards him.

On the pullout bed, Mercedes and Rachel were both sitting up and watching the scene unfold with mouths hanging open and eyes wide as saucers. Kurt let out a strangled yell and ran to the bathroom, where he slammed the door and locked it shut behind him.

A stunned silence was left in his wake. Even Puck, standing behind Finn at the door, didn't have anything to say after that sudden outburst. Burt stared after his son, but almost immediately headed for the kitchen to get the household keys again.

"Dammit," he said after opening the drawer, slamming his hands down on the counter.

"What is it?" Carole asked.

The keys were gone.

x

Kurt gripped the sink with both hands and hung his head down while trying to control his erratic breathing. He just felt so stupid lately, always flying of the handle and going around crying all the time. It's like he couldn't control himself, his feelings, anymore. And his head just wouldn't stop hurting.

Angrily, he scrubbed at his eyes, then laughed bitterly when he caught sight of his face in the mirror. His cheeks and his crooked nose were red and his eyes bloodshot from the crying. He sniffed a few more times at how pathetic he looked. No wonder Blaine ran away from him. He was hideous to look at.

There was a medicine cabinet behind the mirror which he pulled open to reach the bottle of aspirin inside. He popped a couple in his mouth and cupped his hand under the faucet to gather water to wash it down with. After taking a moment to compose himself, he straightened up, closed the mirror, and froze.

He should have been happy, so happy, to see Dave standing behind him. Dave loved him, took care of him, _hurt_ him. Instead, his heart nearly stopped at the sight. The eyes fixed on him were flat, reminding him of the times when Dave couldn't contain his anger and hurt over how broken Kurt had become. He shouldn't have been so broken.

Dave moved forward with slow footsteps until he was at Kurt's back, hands skimming over his slim waist to pull him so they were pressed firmly against each other. It was getting hard to breathe. He closed his eyes as Dave leaned down and began to whisper in his ear-

x

While they'd later find the keys in the refrigerator, shoved under a head of lettuce in the vegetable drawer, right then Burt didn't know where the keys were and Lord knows what Kurt was up to. Suicide was always a grim possibility that never strayed from Burt's mind, no matter what the doctor thought. Kurt might not be suicidal now, but he was still in such denial about everything that happened to hm. Someday he'd have to face it. How could anyone want to live with something like that untangled and laid out so bare before them?

It took Puck and his criminal lock picking skills to unlock the door. Burt shooed the crowd of people away when the it swung open. Kurt stood at the sink, staring into the mirror with furrowed brows. His breathing was strange, sounding almost like he was being strangled. Burt hurried into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet seat.

"Breathe. Come on." He rubbed circles on Kurt's back and pressed his head down between his knees. "In. Out. You can do it."-

Carole came in with a paper bag. "Here. Use this."

Together, they sat with him and waited until his breathing evened out, but he still looked kind of out of it, like the first time he'd locked himself in the bathroom. He also looked exhausted, as if the panic attack, if that's what it was, had sucked all the energy out of him. Kurt rested his head against his dad's shoulder and didn't even protest when Burt pulled him up.

"I'll get the couch ready," Carole said. The bedroom mattress had stains on it from where Kurt had been shoving food under it and still smelled funny. They couldn't let him sleep there.

Burt led him out of the bathroom, past the people waiting anxiously, and into the living room, where Carole was arranging the pullout bed. Kurt crawled into it and slid under the covers. then turned away from them, curling up on his side.

The day passed slowly, with everyone trying not to hover over the couch were Kurt lay simply watching them. He ate dinner without complaint, with a mechanical effeciency which put Burt further on edge. From day one, Kurt had fought them about eating a full meal. Hell, he'd even gone so far as to hide his food in napkins and shove them under his bed so he wouldn't have to.

Burt watched him carefully until nightfall. Thankfully, nothing major happened, nothing to indicate that Kurt had gone off the rails. It was all too simple, really. Puck and Finn went back to the other house while Rachel and Mercedes planned to sleep over again. Burt helped a pliant Kurt get ready for bed, then tucked him under the covers like he hadn't done for years, not since he was a little boy.

"Goodnight, son," he said, kissing Kurt on the cheek. Kurt watched him with blank, glassy eyes. He could have been a porcelain doll, fragile and breakable.

"How you holding up?" Carole asked as they got ready for bed.

Burt shook his head. "I don't know what I should do, Carole. What if all this just isn't enough?"

Carole rubbed in his shoulder and lay her head against his back with a sigh. "You're doing the best you can. Kurt'll come around. Give it time."

"Yeah." He gave her hand a squeeze and kissed her before they climbed into bed together. They both fell asleep quickly, the events of the day overwhelming them.

He woke up to frantic knocking on his bedroom door shortly after dawn.

"Mr. Hummel," Rachel called from the hallway. "Mr. Hummel, please wake up."

Burt stumbled from bed and threw open the door. Rachel and Mercedes both stood in front of his door in their nightclothes. "What's going on?" he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

"It's Kurt," Mercedes said. "We can't find him anywhere."

He stared at him dumbly. "What?"

"He's not here, Mr. Hummel." Rachel looked ready to cry.

It was impossible. Kurt wouldn't even go outside. Except...he had been acting strange. More so than usual.

"I'll get my coat. Rachel, call Finn, tell him and Puck to get down here. One of them can use the Navigator to help look. Mercedes, you might want to call Blaine up, see if he'll want to help, too."

"Sure thing, Mr. Hummel."

"I'll call Dr. Carter," Carole said softly, coming up behind him.

"Should we contact the police?" Rachel asked.

Burt nodded. "Call them. See what they can do."

He grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

x

"-sure it's him?"

Kurt blinked as the world came back into focus. There was a crinkle of paper nearby.

"Yeah, see, it's him. Kurt Hummel."

Someone held his upper arm in a tight grip, a tall man in a uniform...a _police_ uniform. Kurt jerked back, only to have the man's hold on him tighten.

"Whoa." He stopped, then peered at Kurt's face. "You with us now?"

"Where am I?" Kurt whispered.

The other officer looked at him like he was crazy. He _wasn't._ "You're at the airport, buddy."

Kurt glanced around to find people with luggage filing past him.

Oh, fu-


	19. Chapter 19

_(Blaine turned his class ring over and over in his hand. On the bed beside him, Kurt lay propped up with pillows while he flipped through the latest issue of Vogue. He glanced at Blaine and smiled._

_"I'm going to miss you when you go," he said wistfully._

_Blaine took his hand and pressed the ring into it, curling Kurt's soft fingers around it. "Something to remember me by, then?"_

_Kurt's eyes widened. "Why, Mr. Anderson, I do believe my father would object." He grinned, snuggling closer, until their bodies were pressed side by side together._

_Blaine traced the round curve of the ring still cupped in Kurt's palm. "It'll be a promise. For later.")_

"Oh, hell, no." Mercedes swiped the beer bottle from Blaine's hand and glared at him, hands planted firmly on hips. "Am I going to have to smack you again?"

"What'd I do now?" Blaine glared at her and reached for another bottle, but she smacked his hand away.

"Okay, this is getting old. I knew you were having a hard time over Kurt, so I didn't say anything when you went global to go screw anything that moved-"

Blaine spluttered uselessly, remembering all the times she'd chewed him out for doing exactly that.

"-but Kurt's back now, he's with us. You need to man up and get with the program."

"Uhhh, exactly how do I do that? He doesn't want me anywhere near him."

"I swear, you sound just like Finn. You know what? _I_ wouldn't want you now. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You cannot rock the homeless look at all."

Blaine looked down at his faded, rumpled jeans and stained t-shirt. He looked like crap, he knew that, but he'd never been able to make himself care before. Mercedes was right. Kurt would never want him like he was now.

He pushed himself to his feet. "You're right. Give me a minute to clean up."

Mercedes reached out and grabbed his hands. "You can primp later. We've got to go."

"Wait, go where?"

"Kurt's missing."

"What?"

"Everybody's gone out to look for him. The least we can do is help."

x

Three days. It took three days for the police to call with news.

"The airport? What the hell is he doing at the airport?" Burt gripped the phone tightly in one hand.

'Airport?' Finn mouthed, looking around the people gathered at the Hummel home, confused.

Burt listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, then sighed. "Thank you. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Burt?" Carole latched onto her husband's arm and looked up at him.

"He tried to get take a plane to New York on a twenty dollar bill."

"But...that makes no sense. Why would he...?" For once, Rachel was rendered speechless.

"He said his name was Karofsky," Burt added. "Kurt Karofsky."

"Okay," Carole said. "Obviously, he wasn't in his right mind when he wandered off."

Burt nodded. "They said he was acting odd but that he's fine now. 'Lucid,' they said."

"That's good, right?" Puck asked.

"Better, yeah."

"Do you want us to go get him, Mr. Hummel?" Mercedes asked.

"No. Carole and I will go. You guys hold down the fort."

Kurt was waiting for them in a little security office tucked away in a far corner of the airport closest to Lima. His cheeks were stained red from embarrasment and his clothes rumpled and dusty from the trip. Apparently, he'd walked partway and hitched the rest. It was a miracle nothing had happened to him.

"Kurt." Burt grabbed him in a crushing hug.

"Dad," Kurt squawked. "I'm fine."

"What were you doing?" Burt couldn't help but yell. "You could have been hurt! Or killed."

"Burt," Carole warned.

"I didn't mean to," Kurt pleaded. He shook his head and kept his eyes down. "I didn't mean to."

Burt sighed and put an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "It's okay. I know." He nodded at the officers watching them. "Thank you."

At the door to the parking lot, Kurt balked, trying to pull away from Burt's strong hold on him. "No, I c-can't, Dad. I can't go out there."

Burt steeled himself and kept them moving forward. Kurt clung to the doorframe. Carole spoke to him softly, but it didn't help. Burt had to heave him the last few steps out the door. They got strange stares from the people around them, but he ignored it. Kurt needed to get home and if he had to drag him kicking and screaming to get him there, then so be it.

There wound up being not so much kicking and screaming than crying and pleading. And hyperventilating. Carole had to help buckle Kurt up in the back seat and, feeling a bit ridiculous, Burt activated the child safety locks in case he tried to jump to freedom while they were going sixty down the highway.

Carole sat beside him, rubbing his back in soothing circles and making soft, wordless sounds of comfort. By the time they got home, Kurt was dozing lightly, his head resting on Carole's shoulder. Burt drove into the garage, turned the car engine off, and looked behind him.

"Hey," he said softly. "You guys ready to go in?"

Carole shook Kurt softly and he sat up, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. The bruises on his face had faded but still gave his skin a horrible greenish-yellow tint, even in the glow of the car's headlights bouncing off the wall in front of them. Burt shut them off while Carole unbuckled Kurt and urged him out of the backseat.

"I'll take him to our room," Carole said. "It won't help matters having everybody hovering over him."

While Burt ran interference with their worried friends and family (well, just Finn in that regards), Carole steered Kurt to her and Burt's bedroom. He practically collapsed on the bed.

Carole ran a hand down his cheek and chuckled. "You are very much in need of a shave, young man."

"Can I tell you something?" Kurt whispered.

"Of course you can, sweetie. You can tell me anything."

"I saw Da-Karofsky. I saw Karofsky. In the bathroom."

"You know it wasn't real, though, right?" Carole asked carefully.

Kurt nodded, but his eyes looked troubled, uncertain. "Am I going crazy?"

Carole brushed his bangs away from his forehead. "You just need to rest. You'll feel better soon."

"Okay." Kurt snuggled down into the mattress as Carole threw the comforter around him. "Will you leave

the light on?"

Carole smiled at him. "Of course." She shut the door behind her, leaving him to the chaotic thoughts rocketing through his brain.

Tired as he was, Kurt couldn't sleep. He could hear the others voices from coming from the other side of the house, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He drug himself out of his parents' bed and into the attached bathroom. His nose wrinkled in distaste when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Homeless people looked better than he did right now.

A hot shower did a world of wonders in restoring his mood from its downward turn. He found a spare, unopened toothbrush in one of the drawers and got to brush his teeth, which were feeling pretty funky and even found his dad's razor. He doubted if Burt would mind if he used it, though it needed a new blade.

There was a pack of them mixed in with some of Burt's things. He plucked one out and stared at how it glinted under the flourescent lights. There had been a time...yes, three years ago, when he'd sat in the bathroom of their New York apartment with one of these pressed against the inside of his wrist, not hard enough to cut. But he could have. He'd wanted to and he didn't even know why.

Dave had come home and found him and been so mad. So, so mad.

Kurt shivered. He shouldn't be thinking about things like that. Dave was dead now, it was disrespectful.

He quickly switched out the blades and was soon clean-shaven. His clothes were still dirty, though. He'd have to get some from his own room. No way was he wearing his dad's flannel. That was not a phase he had any desire to repeat.

Out in the hall, the voices grew clearer. Kurt snuck forward to listen. He would have felt guilty about easedropping if the topic under discussion wasn't about Kurt himself.

"-not getting any better," Burt was saying. "He walked right out of the house and couldn't even remember his own name, for God's sake."

Kurt winced. _Thanks, Dad. So helpful._ His eyes narrowed when he heard Dr. Carter's voice answering.

"I understand your frustration, Mr. Hummel, but this isn't something you can handle on your own. Hospitalization really is the best course of action. We can monitor-"

Kurt stepped into the kitchen, which fell silent at his appearance. All heads turned towards him. It was like everyone was there: his parents, his step-brother, Rachel, Mercedes, Puck. Even Blaine. Kurt glared at them all.

"I knew it," he said. "I knew you'd send me away."

"Jesus, kid," Burt said. "You think we _want_ to?"

"Kurt, nobody wants that," Merecedes added. "But if it will help..."

"You know what would help?" He was so wrapped up in his growing anger he didn't notice Dr. Carter watching this exchange with her keen eyes. "It would help if you had left me alone. I was fine."

Puck scowled at him. "Dude, you were playing Happy Gay Marriage with your rapist. How screwed up is that?"

"He wasn't a rapist! Dave loved me." Kurt felt like screaming and yelling, like kicking something. But he had to stay calm. They already thought he was crazy.

"I heard," Finn said quietly.

"Heard what, Finn?" Kurt turned his heated gaze on his step-brother.

"When I stayed at Puck's house, before we found out you were there. I heard him rape you."

Kurt stared at him, thinking back to when he first became aware of who, exactly, lived below them. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he remembered the night Finn was talking about, because Dave had come in angry, ranting about how Kurt's old friends wanted to tear the two of them apart. He'd taken Kurt to bed that night and proven how good they were together.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Finn demanded while Kurt was thinking back.

Kurt burst out laughing. "I was _enjoying_ myself. God, Finn, haven't you ever had good sex?"

Around the room jaws dropped and a couple of people gasped. Burt just tensed, his hand clenching his coffee cup tightly.

"Yeah?" Puck suddenly stood up and grabbed Dr. Carter's suitcase.

"Whoa, hey!" She made a grab for it, but he turned quickly, popping it open and riffling through its contents with one hand.

"Sorry, Doc, but I went through this thing the other day, and I know what you've got in there."

Kurt waited, curious, until he pulled out a sheaf of papers and tossed them on the counter.

"What's your excuse for this, then?" he asked.

It wasn't paper on the table, but pictures. Of a bathroom and a closet, taken from multiple angles. They looked familiar...too familiar. The images sparked something in Kurt's brain and he shook his head, backing away.

No. Not now. He didn't want to _know now._

"Kurt?" Dr. Carter stood, watching Kurt carefully.

Kurt grunted, doubling over as memories hit like a spike to the brain.

_There was crying, crying, crying and-_

_-he watched the blood flow from his arm, soaking the t-shirt underneath it-_

_-"tell me you love me-"_

"No," he whimpered. "Stop."

- _whisperwhisperwhisper so quiet i wanna go home i want my dad-_

_-"please let me out"-_

_-kisses rough and wet and so so_ good _-_

"Stop. Stop it. Stopitstopstopit."

He looked up, eyes searching desperately across the room until they latched onto Mercedes's tear-filled ones staring back at him.

- _smiling and laughing they'd forgotten all about him-_

_-"they don't miss you at all"-_

_-if he looked past them, into the brightness inside, he could see her waiting, brightening at the sight of their cheerful faces-_

"Oh, Mercedes," he breathed.

She was there, after all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I miscalculated. This will be the last chaper. The other one-shots will be posted after.

"How do I look?" Blaine asked nervously.

Mercedes gave him a critical once over. "Much better. Kurt would approve."

In the month since Kurt had been gone, Blaine had ditched the hobo look and cleaned up a bit. Sure, he wasn't as polished as he used to be-the hair gel consumption was way down-but it was definitely an improvement.

"So." Mercedes gripped him by the shoulders. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Okay. Good. Just remember-if you hurt him, I will cut you."

"You sure do talk violent around old friends," Ted said with a grin. The two of them had come down for moral support after Blaine called to tell Mercedes that Kurt was asking to see him.

"You should have seen her in high school," Blaine said.

Mercedes smacked his shoulder. She opened her mouth to give a scathing retort but clamped it shut when Blaine's name was called.

"Mr. Anderson? Come this way, please." A male nurse with a clipboard gestured him forward.

Blaine took a deep breath and tugged at the hem of his sweater.

"Good luck," Mercedes said. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, then shoved him towards the nurse.

He was lead into a rec room which consisted of a few tables scattered across the room and a couch set up in front of a wall-mounted TV. Kurt sat at one of the tables waiting for him. He looked a lot better than the last time Blaine had seen him. His hair was brushed, his face clean-shaven, and it looked like he'd even gained a little bit of weight. If he was still too thin, too pale, well, at least he looked better. Besides, he'd always been small and pale, that was nothing new.

"Hi," Kurt said, eyes darting nervously to Blaine as he approached.

"Hey." Blaine slid into the opposite chair. There was an awkward silence as Kurt fiddled with the plastic cup in front of him. "So," Blaine said. "How are they treating you here?" He grimaced at his own words. God, this felt so awkward.

Kurt gave him a wry smile. "They've put me on some new meds and sent me to therapy, but..."

"But what?"

"I-I don't really want to talk about it." He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.

"Oh. Okay. You don't have to." Blaine wasn't sure why he was here, then. He'd come anytime Kurt asked, of course, but he'd been left with the distinct impression that Kurt asked him there for just that reason.

"No, I mean-" Kurt let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't want to talk to them."

Blaine nodded. "Okay."

"I get to go home next week," Kurt said, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mmm. The stuff they gave me is supposed to help with stress and...well, I'll get to go home."

"Kurt, that's great." Blaine reached over and lay his hand on top of Kurt's. Kurt stared at it, his head bent so his bangs fell over his forehead and obscured his eyes. Blaine wouldn't have even known he was crying if he hadn't felt the warm teardrops hit the back of his hand. "Kurt?"

"I have to tell you something," Kurt whispered.

"You can tell me anything, Kurt. Anything."

"W-when he first s-started...doing things...I...I pretended it was you."

Blaine sucked in a breath at the admission, but Kurt was starting to cry openly now, in big great gasps.

"And then, I just forgot and I'm sorry. I was just so confused."

Blaine quickly rounded the table and gathered Kurt in his arms, stroking a hand over the top of his head. "Hey, no, it's okay. Shhh. It's okay."

Kurt was sobbing into his shoulder now, clutching at him, fingers digging into his front. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he chanted. "I just forgot."

Blaine continued to hold him while eying the nurses watching. They looked ready to come over any minute now. He shook his head at them, praying they would wait. Though they hovered closer, they stayed far enough away that Blaine could relax and just let Kurt cry without fear the two of them would be wrenched away from each other.

When Kurt's cries eventually dwindled down to sniffles, Blaine pulled away from him a bit. He put a hand on Kurt chin and gently tilted his head up. "It wasn't your fault. I love you. I always have."

Kurt threw himself back into Blaine's arms and buried his face in Blaine's neck. Though he still cried-just when Blaine thought Kurt had no more tears left in him-he didn't sound near as hysterical as he had earlier.

"Listen to me," Blaine said, keeping a hand on his neck. "You have to talk to the doctors. Please, promise me you will."

Still against his neck, Kurt nodded. It made Blaine feel a little better. He knew that someday, Kurt would heal. Not completely, maybe not soon, but Blaine could wait for him.

x

"Hello, Kurt," the doctor said as Kurt crept into the small office.

He took a seat in front of the desk and looked around nervously. Dr. Sloane had taken over for Dr. Carter when he'd gotten here and, though they'd met a few times in group therapy (which Kurt remained silent in), he'd only been in his office once, not long after he first arrived. The room was practically bare, save for the desk, chair, and a long filing cabinet lined up against one of the walls.

"I hear you had a visitor today."

Kurt snapped back to attention. "Um, yes. Blaine."

"Ah. An old boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"How did it go?"

"Fine. He-he wanted me to talk. To you."

Dr. Sloane smiled. "He sounds very smart, this Blaine."

"So..." Kurt squirmed in his seat. "How am I supposed to do this?"

"Anyway you want. Whatever will be easiest for you."

"I...I don't know. I don't know where to start."

"How about at the beginning?"

Kurt frowned. "Okay." He wrung his hands, then clenched them tightly together. "I was on my way back from school. Dalton starts before McKinley, you know."

When he paused a little too long, the doctor leaned forward and nodded his head with an encouraging smile.

Kurt looked away, towards where bright light filtered in from the window. "But...there was something wrong with my car..."

x

Epilogue-

4 YEARS AGO

Today was a day to celebrate. The original members of ND had finally graduated.. Their regular waitress greeted Mercedes as she walked through the door and led her to the sea of tables shoved together, set in the middle of the room.

Mercedes sat in one of the middle seats and looked around her. The place hadn't changed much. A few new decorations, some new waitresses. There were even some rumors going around town that management might be changing hands soon. The biggest and most important change to Mercedes was the fact that her best friend wasn't sitting across from her.

She could picture his appalled expression at the outfit the woman in the corner wore, a mix of colors that hurt the eye, and his grin at one of their inside jokes, something only the two of them, and perhaps Blaine, would get.

Before she could get all teary eyed over the memories this place evoked-like every place she and Kurt had ever visited did-the sound of laughter and loud voices drew her attention to the door. Mercedes pushed back all the unhappy thoughts crowding her brain and plastered a smile on her face as Brittany burst through the door dragging Santana behind her. They were both all giggly and, Mercedes suspected, just a little drunk, if the way they stumbled and bounced off each other was any indication.

"Hey, guys." Mercedes smiled and stood to wave them over.

Outside the door, the others were gathering. Puck and Finn were body-slamming each other and giving out high fives, unintentionally jostling Artie in his wheelchair as he tried to pass by. Rachel and Tina were huddled together at the back, heads together as they talk. Mike pushed in front and grabbed the door to hold it open for his girlfriend. A wall of sound hit Mercedes ear as everyone began to file in.

Mr. Shue stood outside a moment later to talk with Mr. Hummel, who had driven Finn and some of the other gleeks to the restaurant after the ceremony.

Mr. Hummel poked his head in and called out Finn's name. The new graduate perked up.

"Call home when you guys leave here," Burt said. "Let your mom and me know where you're at."

Finn nodded solemnly. "Sure thing, Burt."

Things had changed at the Hummel house since Kurt disappeared. Both adults had tightened their hold on the only son they had left. Finn never complained about it. Instead, he became super diligent about letting them know exactly where he was at any given time.

"I don't want them to worry," he said once when someone outside of glee had jokingly asked how he put up with it.

"I swear," Quinn said as she sat down, "that hat totally ruined my hair. I've got cap hair." She smoothed her blonde hair down.

"No one cares about your hair, Fabray," Lauren said with a role of her eyes. She and Quinn playfully swatted at each other as Lauren tried to ruffle her hair back to its flyaway state.

As the waitress began to pass out the menu, Puck suddenly stiffened, his stare aimed outside the windows. "Son of a bitch." His chair scraped against the floor as he shot up out of his seat.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked, craning her neck to look out the window, everyone else following her lead.

On the outskirts of the parking lot, just visible under the farthest light, Dave Karofsky was walking to the front of his car. All the seated glee kids rose from their chair and started for the door, even Rachel. Artie rolled along beside them.

"Whoa, guys. Guys." Mr. Shue jumped in front of them, hands raised. "This is your graduation night. Is this how you want to remember it, beating somene up in a parking lot?"

"He did something to our boy, Mr. Shue." Puck made to walk around Mr. Shue but the teacher pressed hands firmly against his chest.

"You know the cops looked into that, Puck. Nothing was ever found that says David had anything to do with."

"That's bull!"

"Yeah." Finn nodded. "He threatened to kill Kurt."

"Guys," Tina said, pointing at the window.

Karofsky's car rolled forward as he started to pull out of the lot and past the front of the restaruant. They could see him in the front seat, but he kept his head forward, either ignoring them or maybe he didn't even know they were there.

"He's getting away." Puck pushed against Shue's hands and went to the door, but it was too late. The car was just a blur in the distance.

Shue came up behind Puck and gripped him by the shoulders. "C'mon. We're supposed to be celebrating."

"Mr. Shue, I really don't feel like celeberating now," Mercedes said. "It doesn't feel right without Kurt here."

"Is there a gay heaven?" Brittany suddenly asked.

Shue's jaw dropped open as he turned to look at her.

"'Cause that's where some football players said Kurt was. In gay heaven."

Finn frowned. "They were making fun of Kurt?"

"I dunno."

"Were they smiling?" Santana asked, rolling her head to the side.

"Yes."

She and Lauren exchanged looks, Lauren cracking her knuckles menacingly. Heads would roll for sure come morning.

"Don't listen to them," Mercedes interjected. "Wherever Kurt is, I'm sure he's just fine. Probably shopping in some high-end, New York boutique as speak."

She ignored the uncomfortable stares thrown her way. Whatever. They could believe what they wanted. Merecedes refused to believe that Kurt was dead. The world would be too cruel to have him anything but alive in it.

"You guys remember that Single Ladies video?" Tina asked, smiling.

"Oh my god," Quinn laughed. "Was that when you guys danced around in those leotards?"

"Hey," Tina protested. "That video got, like, 100,00 hits." She left out the part about the hits only climbing after Kurt's disappearance, Mercedes knew.

"Don't forget the football team," Santana added.

Beside her, Brittany nodded. "Yeah. That was hot."

The next hour and a half were spent trading Kurt stories, from Rachel's disatrous makeover to his planning one hell of a wedding for his and Finn's parents. And, in the end, they all clinked their glasses together and said, "To Kurt."

Wherever you may be, Mercedes added silently.

x

In a rundown apartment in the middle of New York City, a car pulled to a stop in the parking lot. Karofsky turned in his seat to address the passenger laid out, still and quiet, in the backseat.

"We're home."


End file.
